The Implications of Darkness
by Masako Moonshade
Summary: You've seen plenty of Mary Sues about joining the fellowship, but whatever happened to Gollum? His side of the story is revealed at last.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I am not JRR Tolkien.

I am not Peter Jackson.

I have not yet set any plots of LotR domination into action.

_Yet _is the key word here.

Therefore, I do not own the Lord of the Rings.

Pity.

AN: This chapter is meant to give some background on the character. It is not meant as offense to anyone or group mentioned. I know a few decent cheerleaders and jocks, and I know a few sick, twisted, demonic ones. I just used the aforementioned groups because they _are_ typically popular, and therefore, enemies of the unpopular. Which fits in perfectly to the protagonist's development later in the story.

Chapter 1

My home life was... difficult. I was a loner. The preppy cheerleaders and their brainless varsity jock boyfriends hated me, but that was justified. Back home, there was an unwritten law: they would do everything in their power to make my life miserable, and I would return the favor. Simple math determines my success at the latter:

My life was a living death.

I became a Goth, since that typically defined my mood. I also learned all about the Middle Ages and all that stuff, just so I could creep out all those snotty preps.

Swords and Sorcery were cool and all, but I liked rocks better.

My true passion was geology. I knew all about caves and rocks. I had also studied metal craft, and some weaponry to match it. I knew all the properties of every metal, mineral, and crystal known to man.

It also happened to be my most carefully guarded secret. If those dough-headed cheerleaders ever got any idea...well, I'd never live through it.

I had gone through a lot of stress that week.

And I mean a LOT.

I had just suffered through three consecutive days of the most brutal finals that the universe could throw at me, which I promptly failed, and each of my teachers had assigned a truckload of homework. To make matters worse, some creeps at school had somehow gotten into the water system at school, and replaced the water in the showers with purple paint.

I looked like an eggplant, and my shower cloths were completely ruined. And when I tried to leave the showers, the football team dogpiled me, tied me up, and later tied me to the flagpole.

The _top_ of the flagpole.

Then they put into action another (successful) plot for my public humiliation, involving myself (still purple, still at the top of the flagpole), the intercom system, and a bowl of rice pudding.

I was not happy.

I went straight home after that and took a shower until all the purple was out of my raven hair and all the hot water was out for at least three miles in every direction.

To relieve my stress I decided to wander around the field by my house. The rain was pounding, but I noticed grimly that it was also getting the remaining paint off of my scalp. It was always calming to walk through the long grass and just think, uninterrupted by the annoying blare of everyday life.

You heard me.

Every. Day.

Not one out of 365 was reserved for my peace of mind and well being.

It was a wonder I hadn't gone homicidal yet.

But the field helped. It was soothing. It was natural. It was always green and gold or white or an earthy brown. No matter what season, I could always find tracks or animals or neat looking pebbles or something. I knew the field like the back of my hand.

Which is why I was so surprised to find the sinkhole. The rain had probably exposed it, and therefore, I was the first one to see it.

So naturally, I wanted to explore it.

I'm not stupid. I just needed something to get my mind off my problems. So I crept to the edge of the hole, to see if I would need rope to get down into the cave. Just as I was over the edge, the rain came down even harder. I shifted my weight to one hand, and used the other to wipe the water from my eyes.

Bad move.

My grounded hand slipped forward, and I found myself on my stomach. I heard a crack, and a chunk of bedrock shifted from under me, sending me headfirst into the cave.

When I woke up, I knew three things at first: one, it was dark. Two, I was wet. Three, my head pounded. A moment later, my brain started working again. When I fully regained my senses, I realized a few more useful details: I couldn't see whatsoever, I was in a cave, and the entrance of said cave couldn't be more than twenty feet away. Then I remembered the more negative things. In a cave, you are blind. Unless you have a flashlight or a lamp or something to that effect, there is no way to penetrate the merciless dark. Back to the positive outlook and the nonexistent bright side: though I couldn't see any light, I couldn't have slid too far from the sinkhole. I should have been able to use the soil on the ground to lead me out.

Emphasis on _should have_.

I crouched on my hands and knees, but there was no earth beneath my fingers. Not even mud. Only stone. I struggled to control the panic that was slowly churning inside me. I crawled a little further, hoping to feel grains of sand, or a fallen leaf, or something.

Anything.

About fifteen minutes later, I did feel something different. A series of things, to be exact. Under my hands were a group of pebbles, and what seemed to be some kind of formation that felt like big sticks. They seemed to be sharp and smooth, not at all bumpy, like many rock formations end up being. The things I felt seemed slimy, too, but I shrugged that off: most caves are naturally damp. I continued to feel my way up the formations, and my heart raced. I swear that I felt cloth. _It's somebody's shirt or something,_ I told myself. _I'm getting close. Somebody just lost their shirt, and it washed down here. It's nothing. Nothing._ I continued to feel my way up the formation, just to convince myself. Then my hand landed on some kind of dome.

My heart stopped completely. My hand fluttered slightly downward.

Two holes, twice the size of quarters. My hand fell again.

A third hole. A rough triangle, with a blade down the center. My hand moved again on its own.

Teeth.

I screamed.

Note that generally I am not the type to scream. But let's face it. I was all alone, completely in the dark, hopelessly lost, and I had just manually examined a human skeleton. In a flash, I was on my feet and running madly, still blind. At several points, I ran headfirst into a wall, turned, and ran into another wall. At one point in particular, I cut myself on what I thought was a jagged rock. When I picked it up, I realized it was a spear. That, and the fact that it used to be embedded in another skeleton. I started running again, once again screaming bloody murder, and I still had not let go of the spear.

May I make a note of the fact that there are times when you think all is lost, and you let your body run on auto pilot because your brain has shut down for the day.

As it turns out, age-old human instinct is more effective than the modern human brain. Go figure.

In my blind panic, I managed to stumble into a room with actual light. The light was more golden than anything else, so I somehow concluded that it was probably somewhere around noon. As far as I could tell, there were a few more skeletons strewn across the ground. But all the running and screaming had exhausted me completely, so I ignored them. I dropped to my knees and said a few dozen prayers of thanks for the light. Then, still holding the spear, I drifted off to sleep.

When I woke up the next day, I thought I was still dreaming. The room was well lit, but there was no definite source of light. All around me were these weird skeletons, all of them covered in medieval armor and weapons. And they were a lot smaller than your everyday Joe Schmo. I doubt any one of them was taller than four foot two. I decided that I didn't like this particular dream, so I decided to pinch myself.

Unfortunately, pinching does not magically take you where you want to go. It would be cool if it did, though. Nonetheless, I remained in a mass gravesite for midgets, surrounded by a few pillars and a lot of skeletons. I considered running around screaming again, but I discovered that my throat was still sore from the previous night's expeditions.

_Someone will hear me,_ part of me said.

_No. You're _way_ too far underground for that. You'll just wear yourself out again._ Said another part of me.

_If I'm so far underground, then_ _WHY IS THERE LIGHT?!?_ My positive half argued.

..._Glowing algae?_ I discovered a new level of pathetic-ness: when you talk to yourself, then argue with yourself, and then win the argument because part of you has run out of snappy comebacks.

While I was contemplating my screaming situation, something interesting happened. One of the skeletons started moving. More important, it started crawling toward me. I decided to death with it, and started screaming again.

Rather than running away from me, the skeleton started crawling faster. In an instant, it was in front of me, with its hand clapped over my mouth.

At this point I made another important discovery: I couldn't feel bones on my face. Only skin. Therefore, the thing that had scared the death out of me was not a skeleton.

Not quite human either, but you can't win 'em all.

"Stupid girlses, Precious, they shouts too loud. They brings orcses here. Yes, Precious, nasty orcses." I stopped screaming and stared blankly at the thing.

"What's an orcses?" I asked when the thing had let go of my mouth. Now that the thing was in the light, I could see that it had large ears and pale blue eyes, and still some scraggly hair left on its head. The poor creature also looked like it hadn't had a meal in centuries. And apparently, it wasn't used to direct questions.

"What? The girlses speaks, Precious? They askses us questions, Precious!" This creature was living, breathing, and speaking English, however much it would torture my grammar teacher to hear it. I was very, very happy. Too happy to wonder who 'Precious' was.

"Yes. I speak. But what is an orcses?" The creature looked annoyed.

"Stupid girlses. Orcses are hard and nasty and filthy. They hurts us. Yes, Precious." Though I still didn't know exactly what an orc was (I decided that orcses must mean more than one, though I might have been wrong), I got the basic idea.

"Did... did the orcs do this?" I pointed to the masses of skeletons all over the place.

"Yes, Precious. Nasty orcses kills mean dwarfses." The thing turned to leave.

"Wait!" I shouted. The thing spun on its heel, its face angry.

"Stupid girlses! Don't shouts. Shoutses brings orcses!" I was tempted to burst out laughing, but I decided against it.

"Are you coming back?" I said quietly.

"_Gollum, gollum_," the creature coughed, and turned away. Slowly, it melted into the darkness, and I was left alone.

It was about an hour after I first saw the skeletal-zombie-creature-thingy-with-really-big-eyes-and-ears that I realized something pretty nifty.

I had a spear.

To most people, this would mean close to nothing. But I am happy to announce that I, Stephanie Gaia, am not most people. I knew how to use a spear. I did this project on medieval combat in the sixth grade, and after that, I learned how to actually do some decent damage with one of the featured weapons.

Dumb, perhaps, but it made me feel a whole lot better.

Armed and moderately dangerous, I began to explore. The room I had slept in, and about two dozen others near it, were well lit. All of those were covered with these beautiful carvings, of epic battle scenes and some heroes (all of which, I noticed, were midgets with _really_ thick beards) and stuff. Most of the rooms had these pillars that looked like huge gray trees.

I'm not kidding.

When I first saw one, I thought, _man! How do you get something so big to actually grow in the dark?_ I could make out bark and leaves and even a squirrel on one.

I will never understand why people would want to carve a squirrel onto a pillar, but it looked absolutely spiffy.

There were probably more really cool carvings and stuff, but I didn't go into the dark chambers. I'm no coward, but I didn't dare enter those rooms. Whatever killed those... what'd that thing call 'em? Dwarves?...might still be around, and I didn't want to be caught blind, even if I could use a spear.

I also found another predicament.

The skeletons.

My parents raised me to have a tremendous respect for the dead.

Dwarven or otherwise.

Besides, it is really freaky to suddenly look up and see this dead guy staring back at you.

So I made it my own little project to round up all of those skeletons and put them in one special section of one of the rooms. I tried to position the bones like those Egyptian mummies. You know—all noble and dignified, with their arms crossed over their chests. It looked a bit strange, probably because I mixed up the arm and leg bones on a few of the skeletons. It was the best I could think of at the time. Oh yes. That was _after_ I worked up the courage to actually touch a bunch of dead people. I put all the weapons I found around the bodies—kind of a respect thing. I think that part was Norse. The only thing I didn't put in the little tomb was my spear. I felt way too vulnerable without it.

By the time I had finished my little project, the light that flooded the room had gone all pale and silvery and a bit chilly. I assumed that it was night.

Which was good, because I was really tired.

I wandered to the farthest room from the little crypt and picked out a cozy spot between two pillars to be my official bedroom. I lay down in my spot and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

I saw the creature again the next day. I should have expected it, but it was still pretty bizarre to see its skeletal thing creep through the room. Though I didn't know exactly what the creature was, I knew that it wasn't some kind of zombie, so I remained relatively calm as it approached.

The first thing I noticed was that the thing seemed to crawl close to the ground, with its legs very far apart. It put me in the mindset of a spider. I also heard occasional muttering, all of it to the mysterious 'Precious'. I watched from one of the central rooms as the thing scuttled around, sometimes coughing in its weird way. I remained silent as the creature approached. It scampered toward the tomb, the scurrying of its feet accompanied by mutters:

"Look, Precious. All the dead Dwarvses are together. Yes, Precious. All the Dwarvses and their nasty swordses and cold axes. All gone, Precious. Why are they there, we wonders, yes, we wonders. Did the girlses puts them there? _Gollum, gollum,_" It coughed, and looked up at me. I smiled softly. The creature shook its head and continued its examinations. I remained silent, listening thoughtfully to the strange comments. After some time, it seemed to be satisfied, and it moved on—into the absolute dark of the unlit rooms—without hesitation.

When the creature left, a loud grumble in my stomach brought an important fact to my attention.

I hadn't eaten since lunch the previous day.

I searched the lit rooms again for anything that could be eaten—some old bread, some beef jerky—blast, I would have eaten moss if I had found any. The only thing I found was the well and ceramic bowl that I used for water. Again my search didn't leave the lit rooms. I wasn't ready to surrender to the endless black.

I tried to distract myself from my hunger by practicing with my spear. I did everything I could think of, from hitting invisible enemies with the blunt staff to stabbing madly into the air, from practicing power and speed to perfecting my aim and precision. The only problem with these exercises was that they made me even hungrier than I had been before.

"Hello," I said softly on my third day. The creature looked at me with interest.

"Harru?" It muttered questioningly. I translated this into _hello, and welcome to the cave. I will be taking the part of the information desk, so if you have any questions, comments, or concerns, feel free to speak to me._

"Do you know the way out of here?" I asked quietly.

"Yes, Precious... Which ways out, the girlses asks us, Precious. It is far, past nasty orcses and long stairs..."

"Can you take me there?" I whispered. The creature nodded slowly. "Please. Show me the way."

AN: How is it? I'm new at this, so if you see ANYTHING wrong with it, tell me. This is a kind of bizarre concept, but I think I can go somewhere with it. Flames, comments, questions, just review! Please review! Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease! PLEASE!

Oh, yes, and be sure to read _The Truth About Elves_, by Blue Kat. It's really (to the 10th power) good.

AN: Sorry about that. It looks like Algebra is finally getting to me.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I own a pair of socks. I own this really cool Evanescence CD (I don't own the rights to it though—just the right to listen to it). I own a liquid pencil thingy that 'writes like a pen, erases like a pencil'. I own a pretty green notebook that I write deep and philosophical and ultimately idiotic things in. Did _The Lord of the Rings_ ever appear in that list? No. See any pattern? Probably not.

AN: have you ever looked at snow and asked yourself what color it is? If by some obscure chance you haven't, I feel that it isn't white, but blue-gold-green-gray-white. That's my philosophical quip for the day.

Chapter Two

I have never been afraid of the dark.

I've gone caving tons of times with no more than some flashlights and batteries. I've watched dozens of horror movies and braved midnight thunderstorms and power outages immediately afterwards. I have stared down vicious dogs, angry teachers, and all of the varsity football and wrestling teams. I have been painted purple, been force fed rice pudding (which I happen to be allergic to), and strung from the top of the school flagpole. But there was something terrifying about the endless black of the chambers outside of my lit rooms.

And for some bizarre reason, when the creature led me to that dark passage, I couldn't make my feet move.

_Come on,_ part of me said. _You've done this kind of stuff dozens of times. You are being ridiculous._

_You wish_, retorted my other half. _The last time you did anything like this, you were with people. And when the lights went out, you knew perfectly well that they would be back on in a few seconds. There never was anything to be afraid of _there_. But what about here? What about now? What about these orc things? It looks like they took out these dwarves without much trouble. Do you really stand a chance if you can't see?_

_With people?_ My braver side laughed. _What does that make this creature? An onion?_

_Might as well be,_ My other side returned.

_There is nothing to be afraid of_. Said side 1.

_That's what you think._ Side 2 warned.

"Why doesn't the girlses move?" The creature interrupted. I would have informed him that I had a name, but I was distracted by the massive wall of darkness in front of me. "Is it frightened, we wonders?" There was an almost mocking tone in the creature's voice. Yet when it spoke again, its voice was somehow different. "It should be, Precious. Nasty orcses are all over, coming closer, Precious. And long ways for girlses to go. All past orcses and nasty pits..." Again the creatures voice changed, returning to the first tone. "It gots nothing to be frightened of, Precious. Nasty orcses can't sees us as well as we can sees them, not without lights. Not without lights." It dawned on me that the creature standing before me was doomed with a severe case of Schizo. I decided to ignore this fact.

"But I can't see in the dark," I muttered. The creature returned its gaze to me, almost as though surprised to see me standing there.

"It can't sees in the darks!" Echoed the creature. I'm sure it would have said more, but it was interrupted by a churning growl. Habitually, I laid my hand over my stomach.

"Sorry," I said. The creature looked faintly amused.

"Is it hungry, Precious?" It asked. I nodded. A moment later, the creature was gone into the dark chambers. Once more I was left alone.

But I felt a little better. I never actually had to say I was afraid. I never actually had to say I wouldn't go into the cave. For some strange reason, that made me feel more relaxed.

Or I might just have a big ego.

About a half hour later, the creature returned with a triumphant prize.

A fish.

No, not bread. Not some kind of jerky. A fish.

Whats more, a _raw_ fish.

As in, at one point, it started flopping around. Or at least, until the creature smacked it against the ground a few times. At which point the poor fish was limp and dead.

Had there been anything in my stomach at the time, I would have gladly thrown up.

Even worse, the creature offered the fish to me. The fish that had been alive a moment before. I held up a hand in protest.

"No, thanks. I think I'll pass." I said, feeling weak. The creature shrugged, and started eating the fish. It was not a pretty sight. When it finished its meal, I decided to start up some kind of conversation. I asked a few casual questions:

"How long have you been here?"

"Hours and hours and hours, Precious. Since we gots away from the wicked Elvses... We comes here when the trees goes dead and fall down." Translation: _I have been here a long time, since I escaped from the Anti-Santa's workshop, which was sometime in the fall_.

"How old are you?"

"Old? Older than girlses... Younger than the Precious..." Translation: _it is rude of you to ask my age, and even if I felt like telling you, I don't honestly remember_.

"My name isn't girlses, you know. It's Stephanie. Steph, if you want."

"Stephses?"

"Close enough. By the way, what's your name?"

"My... Name..." I could find no translation to this. It seemed almost as though he didn't know. It was strange. After a long pause, I decided to continue the conversation.

"Well, I need to call you something. How does George sound?"

"No, Precious."

"Harry?"

"We don't likes it, Precious,"

"Bob? Larry? Herman? Rumplestiltskin?" Cue dramatic screaming of the words 'No! you cheated! Your firstborn child is _still_ mine!' "Sylvester?"

"No." The creature said flatly.

We finally settled on a name.

Elvis.

Somehow, I managed to twist his favorite word, Precious, into Presley. Don't ask me how. From there, Elvis seemed natural. Oddly enough, it seemed to fit him.

Over the next few days, I learned a good deal from Elvis. I discovered that he could see perfectly in the dark (I wish I had that skill) and that he really enjoyed riddle games. He would ask me a riddle (for instance, a white box without a hinge that holds a golden treasure) and I would generally fail terribly in guessing them at first, but would eventually guess right at pure chance. My favorite strategy was to say a list of random words, (for example, box, fox, hound, ground, sky, bird, egg. Which would be the answer). Elvis absolutely loved it when it took me a long time to figure out the answers to his riddles.

I also learned that he was extremely patient. When I finally did guess the answer, I would ask a riddle, which he would solve within a few moments. We played these games for some time, and when I ran out of riddles, we simply spoke of whatever entered our heads. Elvis left when the sun began to set, for some other, darker tunnel.

In the morning he returned, obviously delighted in the fact that I had stayed (and survived) the night. He brought another fish, which I politely refused once more. We played the riddle game again, and when we finished that, we spoke some more, this time ranting about the injustices of the world. I informed him of my school life and every cruel thing and trick that had ever darkened my days. Elvis told me about the wicked elves, and how they had captured and imprisoned him. They had allowed him to go outside occasionally, and sometimes to climb a tree, but they always surrounded him, making sure that he did nothing they didn't want. He eventually escaped when they were fighting some orcs.

It sounded a lot like high school.

We continued these little discussions—about what was wrong with the world, about orcs, about riddles, about his world and mine. We spoke of the earth and stone, we told histories and fairy tales. Every day he brought me a fish, and every day I refused it.

But nearly a week had passed.

_The rule of three_, part of me noted. _Three minutes without air, three days without water, three weeks without food before you die._

_I'm not going to die._ My other side argued stubbornly.

_You will if you don't eat._ Side 1 said bluntly.

_But those fish... they were alive a second ago..._Side 2 said.

_So were the cows that became your hamburgers._ Side 1 returned.

_Don't talk about food. It isn't helping._ Side 2 snapped.

_Ice cream...Chicken Cordon Bleu...Pancakes...Sushi...Pie...Spaghetti...Baked potatoes with everything on them..._

_You are evil._

_Mwuahahahaha. _

_Besides, I don't want to depend on Elvis._ My second side quipped.

_Then learn how to fish and provide for yourself._ I noticed that Side 2 was very blunt.

_And go... out there? Into the dark?_

_No. There's a river running right through this room. I'm surprised you missed it._

_At least I didn't miss your sarcasm._

_I'm happy for you._

So that day I accepted Elvis's fish. He made sure it was good and dead before he turned it over to me, most likely for the prolonged preservation of my sanity.

Though I find it impractical to preserve what doesn't exist.

Then I was faced with another problem. I couldn't cook the fish: there was no wood, and no way to make a fire. And I couldn't look at the fish while I was eating it. Not yet, anyway. I couldn't bite into it with my eyes closed, because for some reason, my eyes kept popping open at the last second, just to catch the cold dead glassy eyes of the fish. So I made a decision.

I closed my eyes and walked slowly into the nearest dark chamber.

I ate the fish there, within a spear's throw of the light.

I ate it to save myself from a slow death of starvation.

I ate it, knowing that another creature had died so I might live.

And as I ate it, I allowed the darkness to consume me.

I wasn't afraid of the dark after that. I let Elvis lead me to the underground stream where he fished, and he watched as I caught food for myself. I wasn't fast enough to catch the fish with my hands, like him, but I worked well enough with my spear. And I could eat the fish raw. Over time, my night vision improved, to the point where I could recognize individual formations in the pitch darkness. My days became routine—Elvis would come to my chambers, the lit rooms, in the morning, then lead me around the caverns until I could make my way through them without much trouble. When either of us became hungry, we would go to the underground stream where we would fish, and eat our catches. I learned many paths through the darkness. But I didn't ask to be taken outside of the cave again. I felt almost as though I didn't belong there anymore.

Over this period of time, I had heard and smelled and seen a few orcs. Elvis had chosen to take me along the less populated paths, but just in case, Elvis had warned me to keep my spear with me at all times.

A fact that I was thankful for later.

I had a strange tendency to wander at night. I would always take my spear with me, and only go on the paths Elvis had shown me. One of those nights, I was examining a rock formation, when I heard a familiar clanking and scurrying.

Orcs.

I tried to run, or to escape into the shadows as Elvis had taught me, but the orcs were on me in seconds.

I was surrounded. For a moment they just stood there, looking stupid. Probably wondering when I arrived and where I came from. I could find only one really good thing about the situation.

None of the orcs had purple paint on him.

After a moment of idiotic staring, one of the larger brutes started shouting something.

"_Druumknashmrysst_?" he asked the biggest. _What in the world is that thing_, he said. For about a minute, he was answered only with shrugs and confused glances. Then one of the larger creatures received a rare and elusive gift—an idea.

"_Sharknashka_!" he snarled. _Kill it_, I realized with a start.

And the fight was on. The stinking creatures came at me quickly and relentlessly. The first one caught me by surprise, and nearly hit me with his black sword. Out of simple reaction, I thrust my spear forward, and the orc was dead.

One down, two dozen left to go.

I put into action everything that I had practiced: I lunged, thrust, jabbed. I hit one of the stinking creatures with the blunt shaft of the spear, and at the same time slashed another. Several times I tripped or nearly dropped my spear, but the orcs were so close that they still got hit. I fought for about fifteen more minutes, at which time the three remaining orcs decided that they had better things to do than get killed by a girl. I think I witnessed a historical event there: they were the first orcs in existence to grow brains.

The experience had left me exhausted, but with a very high self esteem. I had just fought my first life and death battle, and actually done well for myself. I didn't know any varsity shmarsity wrestler who could say that for himself.

Though the fight had been rather fun, I decided that I didn't want to play with any more orcs that night, so I staggered to my chamber and quickly fell asleep.

That night, I had one of my typical strange dreams. I was in this castle, and all these kids, most of them younger than me, were running around in black robes, swinging these pointy little sticks. One of them in particular caught my eye. He was pretty short, though he looked about fifteen. He wore glasses, and under his dark black hair was the strangest scar I have ever seen. It was shaped like a zigzag, or a lightning bolt or something like that. He was looking really stressed and shouting stuff like 'Where's Dumbledore' and 'McGonagle' and other such gibberish. Then I was in somebody's house, where I saw this girl run up to some guy and hug him, and he turned into a cat. I woke up feeling confused but rested.

I was famished in the morning. As soon as Elvis showed up, we hurried to the river for breakfast. When we finished eating, I told him about the fight with the orcs. Apparently he approved.

"Clever Stephses!" He laughed. "Killing so many orcses!" I smiled. It was high praise, coming from him. He was about to speak again, but he was interrupted by voices.

"...A mine!" some creature cried. The voice was rough, but it was no orc. Elvis and I swept closer to the voices. I saw nine figures of varying sizes standing in a nearby chamber. Behind them was a large area of bright light. _The entrance,_ I thought absently, though I had no intention of leaving. I was more interested in the newcomers.

"This is no mine..." said another figure, a tall one with a slight beard. "It is a tomb..." _Funny_, I thought. _That's just what I thought at first._

"No..." Moaned the shorter one, the one who spoke before. I noted that he had a very long and tangled mess on his chin, somehow bladed.

"Goblins!" Muttered another tall figure, this one with blond hair.

"We make for the Gap of Rohan." Cried the one who pointed out the mass dwarf gravesite. I had no idea that this place had a Gap, but I was relieved: I was in desperate need of a change of cloths. "We should never have come here. Get out, you fools! Get out!" The figures looked insane with panic at this statement. I noticed a snakelike thing creeping among the maddened figures.

"Strider!" One of the really short figures shouted. An instant later, he was on the ground and being dragged toward the light. My grip tightened on my spear. For some reason, that little word managed to reorganize the entire group. Three of the taller figures unsheathed their swords and ran after their comrade. After them came the short, bearded one with an axe, and the tall blond man drew his bow. Last came three short little figures, short as in not even four feet tall, waving daggers.

In the moment after my eyes adjusted to the brightness, I saw eight of the nine figures battling... a giant squid. Which was in this really big, foggy lake.

I kid you not.

It was like _Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea_ had joined forces with _The Adventures of King Arthur_. After a few minutes of hacking, shouting, and shooting, the short figure who had been squid-napped was free and being carried away by his friends. The giant squid actually started climbing out of the lake and gave chase. Left without alternative means of escape, the nine warriors retreated to the cave. The squid tried to continue the chase, but as it threw itself against the opening, the outside of the cavity began to crumble like Texas toast. In moments, the doorway was blocked. As my eyes readjusted to the darkness, I felt a slight pang of regret. Somehow that door had seemed like the end of my problems: the darkness, the raw fish, even the brutality of the orcs that shared the caves.

Strangely enough, I hadn't thought too much about those things until I saw the door.

There must have been some deep philosophical symbolism in that, but my thoughts were interrupted before I could figure it out.

One of the tall figures, this one with a long gray beard and a pointy hat, tapped his staff against the ground three times, and with each tap, the light at its top glowed brighter. I found myself growing annoyed with all these sudden changes in lighting.

"Now we have but one choice," he said. "We must face the long dark of Moria,"

_Moria_, I thought. _Is that what this place is called? Is that somewhere near Muncie or something?_

"Be on your guard! There are older and far fouler things than orcs in the deep places of the world."

Fouler things than orcs.

Right.

Judging by the man's long gray beard and the thousands of wrinkles chiseled into his face, he was pretty old. I decided the poor old guy was going senile.

Pity.

Moria, if that was the cavern's name, was a dangerous place to lose your mind.

"It is a four day journey to the other side. Let us hope that our presence may go unnoticed."

_Too late for that, Buddy,_ I thought with a smile.

The old man began to lead the company deeper into the cave. Without speaking, both Elvis and I began to follow the group. If nothing else, they were interesting. The shorter ones (axe bearer excluded) kept stumbling on the most bizarre things when they got tired, and the march was sprinkled with small conversations about the most random things.

At one point Elvis and I made a game of guessing which chamber they would go to next. When either of us got hungry, one would hurry to the river, catch a few fish, and rush to the next room we that we predicted the group would visit. Then we would both eat, silently, as we watched the company continue their little trek and make little comments as they walked.

Those comments eventually led to some interesting discoveries. For instance, the tall members of the group were Gandalf, the leader and the old guy; Aragorn, second-in-line sword-slinger. He looked about thirty, had an unshaven face and at random times took out and examined strange herbs and stuff from who knows where. Legolas was the semi-claustrophobic elf (he was a lot taller than I expected elves to be) who carried a bow. He was tall, blond, and the looked like kind of guy that every girl in the country would kill to date. Boromir, another human, also carried a sword, and sometimes traced the designs on the horn that he carried at his side. He was in his mid twenties, with a light beard and a naturally proud walk, as though he had been raised for greatness. His cloths seemed to emphasize this thought, but something in his face...something in the way he looked into the dark seemed to say it was a calling he didn't want. The middle-sized member was a dwarf named Gimli, who seemed to be in mourning because his relatives who used to live here were dead. Which I find unreasonable, since anyone who is dumb enough to live in Moria and lower their guard is obviously suicidal. The short ones were Merry and Pippin, who seemed to be joined at the hip, both in their early twenties, with brownish hair and constantly grumbling stomachs. Frodo, who's hand kept moving absently from his heart to his shoulder, also looked about eighteen, and tired. There was a kind of nervous fear in his eyes, and a deep sadness. Last came Sam, more or less eighteen, who was carrying a ridiculous load that seemed to include everything from a fully stocked kitchen to a supply of cloths that would keep a cheerleader happy for a year. I wouldn't be surprised if he stopped and took out a sixteen inch TV so they could all watch football. The four shortest people seemed to be called Hobbits, though I wasn't sure if that was the local word for midget, or if it was some kind of sorority or club or something. I decided that all of the people in this little group were either members in some weird reenactment group, or a club of Super Amish.

On the first night of following the group, I had a weird little dream. Not really weird by my standards, but a little bit odd nonetheless.

I was sitting at my desk at school, listening to Mrs. Mecum, my social studies teacher blab about longitude and latitude.

"Now class, I want you all to look at the map of the town on your desks. I want you all to find your house, and put your finger on it." She said. _What am I? Ten?_ I thought, though I obeyed her instruction. Right by my house was the field, and there was even a dot labeled _Sinkhole._ I wondered how the mapmakers knew about the hole already. "If you will notice, there are no large bodies of water in or around our town," Mrs. Mecum continued. "There are a few small ponds in the area, but most of them are manmade, and don't support much more than goldfish. Does anyone know why?" I raised my hand. "Yes, Miss Gaia?"

"Because it's too flat around here," I offered.

"Very good, Miss Gaia. But if you'll take out your other map," I reached under my desk and pulled out another map. "You'll see that Middle Earth is not flat. See all the mountains in the middle of the map? And down in the southeast, around Mordor? The mountains there offer a tremendous strategic advantage. Does anyone know what that is?" I raised my hand again. "Do you have an answer, Miss Gaia?"

"No, I have a question."

"Go ahead."

"What's Middle Earth?"

"Why, it's where you are, Miss Gaia."

"This looks nothing like a classroom."

"No, it doesn't. Middle Earth is where you will be when you wake up."

"Sure..."

"Now, class, look at the map. Note the cave marked in the mountains. The cave is called Moria. Now go west for a few miles, until you reach a forest."

"Mirkwood?" I asked, looking at the forest to the west of the mountains.

"No. Lorien. It's a bit to the south and east of Mirkwood."

"I see it."

"Good. Now do you see the big river flowing north and south?"

"The Anduin?"

"That's right. Follow the Anduin down until you're right next to Mordor. You'll see a canyon there, called Emyn Muil, and then a swamp called the Dead Marshes. Now you'll be right on top of the Mountains around Mordor. These mountains are far too steep to climb, and it's impossible to cross them, except though the main gates."

"That's not right," I said.

"Do you have something to add?"

"Yeah. Right here—it says there's a pass or something. It's really small...Minas Morgul..."

"Very good. You'll have to go there, you know."

"What?"

"Now hurry and wake up. The Fellowship is getting ready to leave."

I was awake in an instant.

The group continued, relatively silent. I thought about my dream as I followed them, to amuse myself during the lulls. I decided that something about my dream was right—there were no lakes within miles of the sinkhole, and I didn't think I had come anywhere near Lake Michigan. Half of my dream had to be nonsense, of course. I had never even heard of a Middle Earth, or Lorien, or Anduin, or any of that stuff. So I just pronounced the dream as just that: a dream.

After about three days, the group stopped at a ledge in front of a three-way fork. Gandalf muttered something to himself, but the cavernous walls magnified his words until it seemed the old man was standing right next to me.

"I have no memory of this place..." The entire company looked worried. The man put down his glowing staff and slumped down on a nearby rock, muttering in some language I didn't understand.

"We gets a closer looks," Elvis whispered to me.

"Good idea," I agreed. Elvis led me a bit farther below the group, and then up a steep formation

that led up to the ledge the company was resting on. I could hear even their whispers.

Merry and Pippin unpacked some food and started eating. Boromir and Aragorn had an interesting conversation about battle strategy, while Legolas and Gimli debated the pleasantries and evils of caves and being underground. Sam reorganized his pack (it took a lot less time than I expected) and tinkered with a few of his things (probably adjusting the color balance on his TV). Frodo looked intently over the ledge. I wondered vaguely if he saw Elvis and me. After a moment he walked to Gandalf's side.

"There's something out there," he whispered. _Looks like the jig is up_, I thought sadly.

"It's Gollum," Gandalf replied. I felt a wave of relief wash over me. Elvis and I weren't _gollums_. Whatever a _gollum_ is.

"Gollum?"

"He's been following us for three days." At least, not unless _gollum_ meant something along the lines of _stalker_.

"He escaped the dungeons of Barad Dur?" _The dungeons of Bradley What?_

"Escaped... Or let loose?" _Interesting question..._ "He hates and loves the Ring," _Wait. Now we're talking about fashion? What are these people, cheerleaders?_ "just as he hates and loves himself. He will never be rid of his need for it." _Must be. Very few people can be that obsessed with accessories._

"It's a pity Bilbo didn't kill him." Frodo muttered. I was royally confused at this point.

"Pity!" Said Gandalf. "It was pity that stayed Bilbo's hand. Many that live deserve death, and some that die deserve life. Can you give it to them, Frodo?" I knew that they were talking about something very deep. I just didn't understand a word it. "Do not be so willing to hand out death and judgement. Even the wise cannot see where it all ends. My heart tells me that Gollum has some part to play yet, for good or ill, before this is all over. The pity of Bilbo will decide the fate of many." Gandalf had lost me somewhere after he said _pity_.

"I wish the Ring had never come to me. I wish none of this had ever happened." _I feel for you, brother,_ I thought at the Hobbit.

"So do all who live to see such times, but that is not for them to decide. All that is for us to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us. There are other forces at work, beside the will of evil." _Yup. There's the force of Gravity, the force of Magnetism, the force of Obsession..._ "Bilbo was meant to find the Ring, in which case you also were meant to have it, and that is an encouraging thought. Oh! It's this way!" The old man rose from his perch and wandered to the far left fork.

"He's remembered it," Merry said.

"No, but the air doesn't smell so foul here. When in doubt, Meriadoc, always follow your nose." _Wise advice, Toucan Sam_, I noted. The rest of the company rose and stretched and followed after Gandalf once more. Elvis and I stayed a bit behind the group to avoid discovery.

"Do you think they're on to us?" I whispered to Elvis. He looked uneasy.

"It's time to follow, Precious," he muttered. I dropped the topic, but questions continued to circle through my mind: Who is Bilbo? And what of Gollum? What could Gollum have done to make Bilbo want to kill him? Did this have anything to do with a cheesy soap opera? Did this freakish place have football? And if not, what were guys obsessed with? Was there another creature tracking the company besides Elvis and myself? _And what else lurks in the dark_, I wondered, suddenly feeling a terrifying presence shift, not far away.

Thus is the extent of mine muses. If thou dost dislike mine fiction for any reason, please, do revieweth with great haste. And take care to study in the works of Blue Kat, whose skills and talents doth greatly surpass mine own.

AN: Sorry. That's what happens when you see _A Midsummer Night's Dream_. I am very sorry if I got some of Gandalf's quote wrong. My memory of _The Fellowship_ is a little fuzzy. I'll have to watch it again this weekend.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I swear on all seven of my goldfish's graves that I do not own anything. Now leave me alone, Peter Jackson, or all the ghosts of my goldfish will haunt you forever. laughs evilly. I love Halloween.

Chapter Three

I have the weirdest dreams at the best of times. But the dream I had that night rated pretty high on the weird scale. First I was in this garden, but all the flowers and trees and stuff were made out of gems and stuff. Emerald grass, ruby roses, amber trees. You get the idea. Well, I was walking through this garden, and I tried to pick a flower. I bent down to pick a lily, made of diamonds, and the moment I touched it, it shattered. One of the shards flew at me and nicked me in the palm of my hand. The rest of the pieces scattered among the other flowers, and each of those shattered, and those splinters shattered more flowers, and so on and so forth, until the ground itself seemed to crumble beneath me. But instead of falling down, I found myself by this cliff. The cliff itself seemed to be white, and it shone with this brilliant light, though it was jagged and steep and sharp all over. Going away from the cliff is this weird road. As far as I can tell, the road was nice and smooth and easy, but it was barely as wide as my foot, and hovered over some immense darkness. Oh yes, and after a few hundred feet, the road became shrouded by a tar-like blackness. My hand was bleeding badly, but I did nothing about it, only staring between the cliff and the road. And coming from nowhere, I heard a really familiar voice. In this powerful, commanding tone, it said:

"Choose! Only you command your fate now: Life or Death. Dark or Light. Hardship or Escape. Choose now! Choose!" This voice sounded really scary for some reason, and when I answered it, I could only manage to squeak pitifully as a single ruby drop fell from my hand.

"I don't know what to do! Somebody help me!" Is it just me, or are people always either eternally wise or as dumb as dirt when they're dreaming?

I am clearly one of those idiot dreamers.

Another drop fell to the ground.

"Only you can decide, and only now. Choose!" the voice boomed. My eyes focused on my hand as one last drop formed, and slowly fell from the cut.

I woke up with a start.

I decided to calm down by catching a few fish for Elvis and myself. When I returned with a half dozen fish (I was feeling stressed), the company was already awake and preparing to continue. They marched on for a few more hours, passing through some particularly narrow tunnels, which Elvis and I had to skip entirely. We had to take instead a more difficult road around them, which led ultimately to the same place. When we found the company again, we were all in one of the larger chambers, which I noted was only two down from my own rooms.

"Let us risk a little more light," Gandalf said. A sudden light radiated from his staff, and all but the farthest corners of the chamber sparkled with the bright light. My eyes stung, and again I found myself annoyed with the sudden changes of lighting. Every alabaster pillar shone in white brilliance, and the intricate carvings that adorned the walls seemed to glow. "Behold the great realm of the Dwarf city of Dwarrodelf." The newly lit company looked awe struck. Only Sam could bring himself to speak.

"There's an eye opener, make no mistake." He murmured. I had to agree with him. Even though I had been in that particular chamber often, seeing it in full light made it seem like the inside of some fairy tale castle. I was left breathless by the sheer majesty of it all, as corny as that sounds.

Even Legolas seemed to forget he was underground for a few moments as the company wandered through the hall. He looked a lot happier for a moment.

Then he saw the ceiling.

I suddenly felt really, really sorry for him.

My feelings of pity were interrupted when Gimli suddenly cried out and dashed from the group. And I had a sinking feeling that I knew where he was going. The dwarf's friends gave chase, and Elvis and I followed, darting between pillars to avoid their eyes. Unfortunately, my little assumption was right. Gimli had run into the Crypt: an icy chamber scattered with skeletons, and illuminated by a ghostly light that shone like a spotlight on a large stone coffin. I had wanted to clean the place up a bit-- move the skeletons to a more suitable position, perhaps, but I could never stand in that room for more than five minutes. There was something in there that made every hair on my body stand on end and infinite chills race down my back. Even Elvis feared that room. When the company did enter the Crypt, the two of us lagged behind, sheltering in the shadows that reclaimed Dwarrodelf. Gimli was moaning at the verge of tears. Gandalf leaned over the Coffin.

"'Here lies Balin, Son of Fundin, Lord of Moria.'" Gandalf said quietly. "He is dead then. It is as I feared." Gimli bowed his head and continued his sobbing. Gandalf reached down and retrieved a large leather-bound book from a skeleton. The hairs on the back of my neck pricked.

"We must not linger," Aragorn muttered. The old man cleared his throat and began to read from the tome.

"'They have taken the bridge and the second hall,'" he said. "'We have barred the gates, but cannot hold them for long. The ground shakes. Drums, drums in the deep...We cannot get out. A shadow moves in the dark. We cannot get out.'" He paused. "'They are coming.'" I felt as though a vein of ice had escaped from the coldest reaches of the cosmos and ensnared me. For a moment I was paralyzed with some terrible foreboding.

A sudden noise revived me. Evidently Pippin had knocked something into a well. He turned to face the rest of the company, looking embarrassed, and an entire skeleton followed whatever had fallen into the well, crashing, banging, and making every other possible form of noise as it rushed downward. And because everything in the world seems to come in threes, a bucket that had been resting near the skeleton also decided to take a dive. It was louder than a herd of eighth grade boys in gym class.

Which takes some doing.

"Fool of a Took!" Gandalf snarled. "Throw yourself in next time and rid us of your stupidity!" The poor hobbit looked extremely upset and embarrassed. I fought the sudden urge to run out and hug him.

Curse those hobbits. They're without a doubt the most adorable things since the discovery of puppies.

Doom...

The beat was faint, almost as though it had been imagined.

Doom...

But the second one was unmistakable. It echoed hollowly through Dwarrodelf and the Crypt.

Doom Doom Doom...

I readied my spear and looked at Elvis. He motioned for us to leave, mouthing something.

_Orcs._ I looked back. The company had realized the meaning of the drums.

They were prepared.

As swift and silent as shadows, we fled.

Elvis and I only managed to get a few hundred yards before the orcs came. Elvis began to dart and dodge between our attackers, forcing them to run into each other and the walls around us. I stabbed and impaled my opponents with my spear, knocking some to the ground with my shaft to take care of later. As I fought, I heard the voices of the company.

"Orcs!" Legolas shouted.

"They have a cave troll!" Boromir. The voices became muffled.

"Stay close to Gandalf!" Aragorn. I dodged a boldly swung sword and knocked its bearer into some other orc's blade.

"Let them come!" Gimli shouted through what seemed to be a closed door. "There is yet one dwarf in Moria who still draws breath!" I rolled my eyes. There was a sound like splintering wood, and the voices were no longer muffled.

There was a sharp clanging, most likely sword fighting.

Then the roaring started. It sounded like a cross between a demented whale and a dinosaur and a rhino and an elephant and a lawnmower and a pro wrestler, all thrown in a blender and set for puree. The air was thick with roars and battle cries.

For a few moments the orcs subsided.

"Come on!" I shouted to Elvis. The two of us were off in a flash. Ignoring the shouts of the company, we ran away from the approaching wave of orcs, back to Dwarrodelf. But the orcs were already there. They ran down the pillars like some kind of dark water. And I nearly ran into their midst. Elvis grabbed me before I ran headfirst into the gathering crowd. He pulled me quickly behind a large statue, away from the bloodthirsty eyes of the orcs. I still saw the fellowship, though. They had run, unhindered, into the middle of the forest of pillars, and were quickly surrounded by a living sea of snarling, screaming orcs. They were doomed.

_DROOM_

It was as though someone had taken a picture of the scene. Every creature froze for a moment. Then every orc, as one, turned its head to a far wall. I saw a huge archway that I had never passed through. That arch was now alight with some angry orange glow. I returned my gaze to the company.

No longer interested in the orcs, they all stared in fear at the giant doorway. Legolas had an arrow fitted to his bow, but no matter where he aimed his weapon, he knew it would make no difference in bringing down whatever new evil had created that light. There was a hideous scream, and all of the orcs fled as one. I had a sinking feeling that any creature of intelligence would follow suit.

"What new devilry is this?" Boromir muttered, the acoustics of the cave echoing his voice until it seemed that he was shouting. Gandalf stood motionless for a moment. The group now stood alone in the dwarf city.

"The Balrog..." Gandalf said quietly. A hint of fear became evident in his voice. "A demon of the ancient world. This foe is beyond any of you. Run!" The company immediately took his advice to heart. They were off at a dead run, and Elvis and I were close behind, unnoticed in the panic. Gandalf led the way to another surge of orange light, but I was too frightened to be cautious. Whatever had scared away all those orcs had to be either huge and terrible, or a telletubby. In the distance I saw Boromir topple forward onto the edge of a sheer cliff, illuminated in fiery red, and an unsummoned tremor of fear raced through me. Legolas grabbed him at the last moment, just as Boromir was about to topple from the ledge.

For a moment I hesitated, and Elvis turned me to the side to a hidden path, around the pool of orange light, away from the main road. As I ran, I looked through a few gaps in the stone that separated me from the company. It seemed, in an odd way, as though I was looking at a series of pictures instead of a moving scene. The first panel showed them running down a flight of steps, framed by what looked like lava, drenched by a thin rain of arrows. The next picture showed a thick gap in the stairs before them. Legolas had already crossed it, and waved for the others to follow. The third revealed that Gandalf, Sam, Merry, Pippin, and Boromir to have joined the elf. Gimli stood at an alarming angle on the very edge of the lower step. In fact, it seemed that the only thing that stopped the dwarf from toppling into the inferno below was the fact that Legolas had a firm hold of his beard and looked as though he intended to pull it out by the roots.

It was a bit comical, come to think of it.

The next panel showed Aragorn and Frodo alone on the upper step, which had come completely free from the rest of the stairs and was now leaning dangerously in my direction. In the next few panels, the step leaned forward, the two were thrown into the arms of their friends, and the ledge fell into the blazes and was quickly engulfed. The group continued their mad dash, now a little behind us, even when the blazing lights dimmed and they were surrounded by a terrible darkness, penetrated only by Gandalf's staff. They began to cross a long, narrow stone path through the darkness, which looked strangely familiar.

I stopped short.

_My Dream._

"Hurry Stephses," Elvis muttered, grabbing my wrist. He led me away from the road, to a large cranny in the wall. I wouldn't have to cross the road. I wouldn't have to make that choice.

Yet.

Elvis and I hid as the company sprinted across the wide chasm. It seemed that they had escaped whatever monster pursued them.

Boy was I wrong.

There was a sudden eruption of fire. I thought for a moment that the lava had risen from the deeps of the previous room, spurred on by some volcano. The thing is, lava doesn't have a face. Or wings. Or a sword. Come to think of it, lava doesn't have hands either.

In fact, it looked a lot like the Red Bull from _The Last Unicorn_: a bullish face, an enormous arched back, long, bright horns emerging from a large head. Oh yes, and the entire thing looked as though it had been through a vat of oil and a pack of eighth grade pyromaniacs.

I'm serious. You could have roasted marshmallows the size of Montana on this thing.

And it was headed toward the company.

Gandalf turned and met it head on.

"You cannot pass!" he shouted at the monster.

"Gandalf!" Frodo cried. The old man seemed to ignore the hobbit.

"I am a servant of the Secret Fire, weilder of the Flame of Anor." Gandalf snarled. He seemed to glow with pure energy; I flinched from the sheer force of it. "Dark Fire shall not avail you, Flame of Udun!" The Balrog, I realized, swung a titanic flaming sword at the old man. My heart stopped. Yet Gandalf seemed to be encompassed by an orb of white light. _Anor,_ I thought suddenly: _he's using the flame_. The fiery blade hit the orb with an ear shattering crash, and after a stunned pause, the sword began to fall apart in the monster's hand. The creature bellowed in fury and drew a long fiery whip from its flaming body. "Go back to the shadow," Gandalf said. The Balrog cracked the whip, summoning a deafening sound that has haunted my nightmares for years afterward. "_YOU SHALL NOT PASS!"_ Gandalf shouted. He raised his staff into the air and thrust it into the narrow road before him. A bright light surged from Anor, and the Balrog retreated for a moment, almost overcome with fear.

Yet the demon remembered its courage after a moment and charged forward. The stone beneath its feet gave way. With a loud crash, the road on which the Balrog stood crumbled into the abyss below, sending the monster flailing into the dark. Gandalf stood there for a moment, exhausted. Slowly, he turned back to his friends.

But he didn't see the whip.

It came like a glowing red snake, cracking once through the air before twining around Gandalf's ankle, dragging him to follow the fallen Balrog. The old man, his strength drained, struggled to pull himself onto the ledge.

I saw the last of his power leave him.

I saw his eyes steel over, in terrible resolution.

"Fly you fools," he gasped, and released the ledge.

I screamed as he fell into the endless void.

"NOOOOOO!" Frodo shouted, drowning out my own cry.

Arrows rained down again, and the company was forced to flee.

Elvis led me to a path around the dark road. He looked at me with worry.

"Is Stephses all right?" he asked. I forced a smile and a nod.

"Yes, Elvis. I'm just a bit shocked. Thanks, though." Elvis looked uncertain, but he nodded.

The road was little more than a spiny ledge on the very border of the abyss. It was difficult, but I was grateful-I was given an excuse not to speak. My mind strayed to my dream.

That bridge, that road. It was so much like the one from my dream.

_Life or Death,_ the voice had said.

Gandalf had chosen death... or had he bought life for his friends? And why did it have to come at such a terrible price?

_Dark or Light_...

He had surrendered the light. He had allowed himself to follow the monster. Yet... he seemed almost to glow in that last moment. Or was I hallucinating?

_Hardship or Escape..._

Had Gandalf escaped anything in death? I saw the pain in his eyes. I felt the power he had to release to stop the Balrog. He had endured more than I ever thought was possible. If he had found any refuge in the end of his life, it was more than deserved. Of that I was sure.

_Choose now!_

He had chosen. As much as it pained me, I knew he had chosen right.

_Only you command your fate now..._

His fate, and that of all around him. I wondered for a moment if we all carry such power in the last moments of our lives.

_I don't know what to do!_

It shamed me to admit it, but I wasn't sure I would have that kind of courage when my turn came. My head was starting to hurt, so I tried to empty my mind and focus on the road in front of me.

Elvis and I left Moria immediately when we reached the open door.

Big mistake.

For about fifteen minutes, both of us were completely blind while our eyes struggled to adjust to the bright, constant light. When I could see shapes, everything still looked bright red, but that also wore off eventually. But I was partially happy that I was blind.

In the distance, I could hear the remainder of the fellowship, all of them mourning.

And I don't think I would have been able to stand seeing them like that.

"Legolas," I heard Aragorn say hoarsly as my vision faded from red. "Get them up."

"Give them a moment, for pity's sake!" Boromir cried. I silently agreed with him, then mentally hugged every member of the group.

"By nightfall these hills will be crawling with orcs," Aragorn argued, seeming to regain his composure. "We must reach the woods of Lothlorien. Gimli, Legolas, get them up!" then more gently "On your feet, Sam. Frodo?" My vision had returned, and I couldn't stop myself from seeing Frodo, alone and away from his friends. He had been facing away, but he turned.

I wish he hadn't.

The hobbit looked like the embodiment of grief. His eyes brimmed with tears, and unbidden trails welled down, dropping like the dead onto his shirt. There was a look in his eyes that scared me. It was a look that can't be described, except that it was one of ultimate sorrow.

I would know.

I've seen that look before.

And I never wanted to see it again.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: For your entertainment, Gollum/Smeagol/Elvis will recite a poem.

Gollum/Smeagol/Elvis: (Clears throat)

**I**n dark caveses

**O**n sharp rockses

**W**e wants the Precious

**N**ow, Precious,

**N**ever trusts nasty hobbitses (receives sharp glances from hobbit huggers)

**O**r wicked elvses (receives sharper glances from fan girls)

**T**ells whole cold worlds that

**H**appy Masako Moonshades owns nothing, Precious.

**I**tsy bitsy nothingses!

**N**ow nasty lawyers must

**G**oes away from us, Precious.

(Applause) We thanks them, Precious (scurries off stage).

AN: sorry for the long disclaimer. Poetry unit in English. Plus a heavily altered copy of Blue Kat (no pun intended). This is what I do with my life when I'm not paying attention in school. Which should explain a lot.

It took just under a day to get to Lorien. In just under that time, I made a startling discovery:

I was not in Carmel anymore.

More importantly, I was not in Indiana anymore.

In fact, I was beginning to suspect that I was no longer in the United States.

Or the Northern Hemisphere.

Or our own little Earth under our own little sun.

I decided that these facts were really beginning to mess with my head, so I decided to instead concentrate on the journey to 'Lorien'.

At first, there was just marching. Aragorn kept the pace fast, despite the growing exhaustion of his company. This, at least, was logical: if all their energy was spent running, they couldn't concentrate on grieving.

A bit twisted, but it worked.

The thing is, Elvis and I also had to hurry if we wanted to keep them in sight. It seemed Elvis had some mysterious reason to follow the fellowship, but I had personally started to like all of them.

So sue me.

Anyway, by the time we all reached the forest, I had sufficiently cursed Aragorn so that all his descendents for seven generations would be born with mushrooms for eyes, carrots for fingers, and beets growing out of their noses. The curse probably wouldn't work, but it made me feel a lot better.

Elvis seemed to be a bit upset when the company reached Lorien. I blamed it on a day of blindness, nonstop running, and me screaming in his ear when Gandalf fell into the abyss.

"What's wrong, buddy?" I asked when his brooding seemed to get too deep. Elvis looked startled.

"Oh...nothings, Precious, nothings, Stephses..." I shot him a reproving look. "...Elvses. Wicked Elvses." I nodded understandingly.

A leaf crunched in the distance.

"Come, Stephses," Elvis whispered suddenly. "Wicked Elvses are here." Almost ghostlike, he darted between the trees, and I was at his heels. I wasn't nearly as skilled at slinking around as he was, but I was better than most, and good enough to avoid most eyes. We crept to a nearby tree and swiftly climbed into the sheltering leaves, quietly watching the unfolding scene below us.

"Stay close, young hobbits," Gimli whispered. "They say a great sorceress lives here, an Elf-witch of terrible power. All those who look upon her fall under her spell, and are never seen again..." I heard an ominous crack, and felt the branch beneath me start to break. I looked around desperately for something else to support my weight, but there were no thick branches anywhere near me. I tried to scramble back toward the tree's trunk. "But this is one dwarf she won't ensnare so easily! I have the eyes of a hawk and the ears of a fox! Oh!" The dwarf suddenly found himself with a drawn arrow between his eyes. I laughed silently at the irony of this. Then I cursed inwardly. My foot was stuck in one of the many forks of another branch, and I couldn't pull it out. The creaking was getting a little louder.

"The dwarf breaths so loud we could have shot him in the dark." Said a new figure as it melted from the shadows of the forest. My first reaction was... Vampire. I swear. It was everything about the guy-from his V shaped hairline to the icy expression in his eyes, as well as the cold way he said that last line: as though killing Gimli would be no more than a slight annoyance. Emphasis on _killing_. As in murder. Even the pale-ish skin made for an almost undead effect. And there was also the fact that he looked rather hot. Not my type in the slightest (I make it a habit not to date vampires), but I could see definite hot guy potential. Which, may I note, is another sign of vampirism. In fact, the only things that I could see to discourage the thought was his bow (vampires use their teeth and hypnotic powers), his cloths (they were green, not black, but I suppose black dye would be hard to find around here), his hair (blond. But then, what color would his hair be? Purple?), and the fact that he was out in the middle of the day. Though SPF 45 could probably explain that.

"_Haldir o Lorien_" Aragorn said. The thought suddenly came to me that this guy might be one of the Elves Elvis was talking about. I wondered vaguely if Elves drank blood. I wondered some more if my foot would ever come loose from that stupid branch. "_Henion aníron, boe ammen i dulu lîn. Boe ammen veriad lîn_" I wondered more about what on earth Aragorn was saying.

"Aragorn," Gimli said, his voice dripping with a nervous haste, "These woods are perilous. We should go back!" The Vampire-Elf shot Gimli a look that could have frozen the sun.

"You have entered the realm of the Lady of the Wood. You cannot go back."

There was a sharp crack and the branch gave way under my weight. For a few moments, I dangled by my ankle, about six feet in the air, yet still somewhat hidden by the dense leaves around me. Every head, Elven, Vampiric and otherwise, turned to me, and I said a silent prayer that they wouldn't see me. Another crack sounded, and the fork splintered around my ankle, leaving a slightly twisted ankle, a heavy bruise, and about eight painful splinters wedged in my upper foot.

Oh yes, and did I forget to mention that I fell about six feet headfirst into a _thorn bush_?!?!?

"Cremeion sey notarie," I heard the Vampire/Elf say. I didn't need to know Elvish/Vampiric to know what that meant: 'go over there and find out what just happened'.

I was royally screwed.

I shook my head a few times to get rid of the weird fireworks and double imaging, and to regain consciousness.

"There is no creature near this place, save for birds," one of the Elves said. "Only a fallen branch upon a briar." Vampires or not, I decided, I like the way these guys talk. By this time, of course, I had managed to clear my head and sneak off into the shadows of the forest, my muddy, leaf covered cloths blending in perfectly to the golden browns of the trees.

"Come. She is waiting," Haldir said, obviously convinced that there wasn't anything out of the ordinary. I stayed far away from the small crowd until they were out of sight and earshot, when Elvis crept from the tree.

"Is Stephses all right, Precious?" he said with concern. I smiled and checked myself over.

"Only a few bumps and scratches. Nothing to worry about." Elvis didn't look quite convinced. His eyes drifted to my foot, which I had barely let touch the ground since I fell. "I just twisted it. That's all." To prove my point, I stepped down with my injured foot. Yet at the lightest touch, pain shot through my leg, making me wince. "Okay... Have you seen my spear?" I asked as an idea entered my mind. In answer, Elvis shot up the tree and back down again, retrieving my spear from the branches where it had lodged itself. When the weapon was back in my hands, I wedged the blunt end of the shaft into the ground. "See? A walking stick." I used the spear as more of a crutch, but it allowed me to walk well enough. Elvis kept giving me worried glances as we walked, though.

"How about we get something to eat?" I asked him after a good hour of walking. Neither of us had any idea about where the company had been taken, and it was already too risky to come near the Elves/vampires. Elvis agreed eagerly, and we began to search for water.

It didn't take more than fifteen minutes to find a lake and catch a few fish. While we ate, I took the liberty of soothing my injured ankle in the cool water and idly glanced at my reflection.

Then it hit me.

I hadn't taken so much as a shower since before I fell in that sinkhole. That was at least two months ago. I was literally caked n mud and dirt and all around grime.

"Hey, Elvis?" I asked, trying to keep the shock out of my voice.

"Yes, Stephses?"

"Um... I'm going to take a bath for just a second. Do you think you could...um...go exploring for a little bit?"

"Why's that, Precious?" I felt a flush growing in my dirty cheeks.

"I...um...kind of need privacy for that kind of thing...you know..." For a moment, Elvis seemed confused, but suddenly understanding dawned on his face.

"Oh...Yes, Precious. We will be exploring. For a little time. Calls if you needs us."

"Thank you." I smiled.

I pulled off my muddy cloths, leaving on my undergarments, just in case Elvis came back sooner than I planned. I crudely washed my outfit, rubbing it against a few of the cleaner stones and rinsing it out in the brook that fed the lake, then leaving it in the branches of a nearby tree to dry. I even cleaned my spear, setting it with my cloths.

Then it was my turn.

Sorely wishing for a bar of soap, I began to wash the mud and dirt and dried blood off my skin. I rubbed at the more stubborn patches of grime and the cuts and combed my hair with my fingers. I took extra care to clean my face, wondering vaguely how my skin would look when it was dirt free. I dove into the water again, to rinse off one last time before leaving the pool.

Boy, was I in for a surprise.

When my head cleared the water, I saw two Vampires/Elves, both male, standing right in front of me. Note that I was wearing only a tank top and underwear. So I screamed.

I take an intermission from the story to bring up an important point, and that would be the custom of chivalry. Typically, chivalry would include guys being honest, brave, fair, and running to the aid of a damsel in distress. I also would like to note my infamous obsession with modesty. Infamous as I used to wear special cloths to the shower. Back to the story.

I suddenly realized my mistake. Both of the Vampires/Elves immediately flushed and turned away, embarrassed. But there was a sound of footsteps, and in a few moments, four more Vampires/Elves had appeared on the scene. The crowd had now positioned itself between me and my cloths. And to make matters worse, more were coming every moment. I dove back under the water, seeking shelter beneath the shield of ripples.

When my breath ran out, I was forced to surface, this time in the middle of a patch of lily pads. The crowd had grown even larger, and now included Aragorn and Boromir. I wanted to die of embarrassment. The crowd evidently thought I had fallen in and was in the process of drowning. The flush in my cheeks brightened, and I pulled a lily pad in front of me, like some kind of barrier between myself and the growing crowd.

One by one, my spectators suddenly reddened and turned away, immediately finding a bird or some leaf to be incredibly amusing. I noticed, with growing annoyance, that none of them had thought of actually leaving me to get some cloths on. I swear, for a half hour we were stuck like that: the entire crowd staring intently at any random object that wasn't in front of them, while I was stuck in the middle of the stupid lake, treading water, wondering if my legs would just fall off or something. At one point, I also noticed a small patch of purple from before my fall into the sinkhole, and scrubbed at that to pass the time. I remained in the middle of the lily pads, because they provided the best cover of anything in the lake, but my constant kicking was quickly scattering the plants.

Boromir looked me straight in the eyes. A moment later, he pulled off his cloak and threw it into the lake, right into my hands.

"Look!" He suddenly shouted to the crowd, pointing in some obscure direction. "Over there...We must...see to it! Immediately!" Everyone seemed to agree with this instruction, and hurried off to examine whatever Boromir had pointed at. I nearly cried with gratitude. I staggered to the dry land, covered by Boromir's cloak, legs aching, and blue with cold.

But there were no guys in sight.

I was in bliss.

Evidently, Boromir's cloak was pretty thick. One side of it had remained dry, so I used it as a towel. When I was good and dry, I found my cloths, also clean and dry, and got dressed.

The coming of night posed yet another problem.

All of the forest was just that-open woodland. There was no place where I could sleep that would in any way hinder the approach of more Elves. Elvis insisted I sleep in a tree, but I argued: with my luck, I would fall off another branch and break an arm or something. We eventually formed a compromise. One tree had a large hollow spot, about ten feet over the ground. The hollow was well hidden, and it would keep the rain and wind and whatever else out. And if there was trouble, Elvis could find it easily.

I wondered vaguely if the hollow belonged to some family of mutant squirrels or something.

My schedual was set: in the morning, I would go exploring with Elvis. We would go looking for our company (I'm not sure when they became _our_ company, but we watched over them nonetheless), and finding new places to fish, and perfecting techniques concerning the avoidance of Elves. In the afternoon, we would fish and eat, and tell stories and riddles. At twilight, Elvis went off to whatever tree he slept in, while I cleaned my teeth and washed my face and hands, etc. At night I would retreat into my hollow and sleep.

Generally I dreamed about this group of kids, a few years younger than me, who kept turning into animals. Sometimes my dreams were about giant mutant squirrels with suits and violin cases who returned from a shortening of the hit list by the secret squirrel Mafia, and they wanted their hollow back. That dream always ended in a strange way: the squirrels kept opening their violin cases, revealing a large store of nuts, and started throwing them at me.

Then one night, when I had been in Lorien for about a week, I had a new dream. There was this lady, an Elf/Vampire, by the looks of her, wearing this long white dress. She was looking right at me, and I felt like I had just been turned into some kind of giant book and was being read. The Vampire/Elf looked me in the eye.

"Welcome, Stephanie Gaia of Illinois." She said in a whisper.

"Uh...Hi." I said.

"You have come in pursuit of a company. To the Wise they are known as the Fellowship of the Ring."

"We're naming groups after jewelry now? That's interesting." The lady smiled. "Who are you?"

"I am the Lady Galadriel." Galadriel said. I considered calling her Gally, but decided against it.

"Interesting...Are you another figment of my dreams, brought on by all the fish I've been eating?"

"No. I am not." The Lady was clearly amused.

"Okay. I'm still sleeping, right?"

"That is true."

"Cool. Then, why do I see you? You know, generally, when I dream stuff, it's just random...stuff. There's no logic or anything to it." The Lady's smile changed a little, as though she knew some secret and was inwardly gloating over it, yet trying to remain noble and polite at the same time.

"Your dreams have more logic than you know, Stephanie." She said.

"They do? Spiffy!"

"Spiffy?"

"You know...Spiffy. Cool. Sweet. Halebujunkers. Boingtastic. Wowsers. Coolerooni. Good." I noticed with some satisfaction that Galadriel looked more than a little disturbed by my vocabulary.

"Indeed." She managed to say.

"So, Lady Galadriel, what is it you wanted to tell me?" I said, finally getting to the point.

"You have dwelled in my forest for seven days-"

"Busted. You noticed that? Sorry. Continue."

"Yet you are permitted to stay as long as you wish."

"Really? Spiffy! Thank you!"

"You have a great part to play in the destiny of Middle Earth, Stephanie Gaia." Galadriel said. The air seemed to fog up, and in the next moment, I was awake.

AN: Read and Review. Also read The Truth About Elves by Blue Kat.

Also: If you guys have any suggestions, questions, comments, ideas, etc, please send them in. I'll answer any questions to the best of my ability, I'll fix any sore spots you guys catch, I'll try to add in as many ideas from you guys as possible, and give the submitter full credit for the idea.

Also: For anyone who cares, I'm not updating until I get at least five more reviews. This seems to work for other authors, so I'll try it too.

interesting mental images. Aragorn, Frodo, Balroc, and company dragging me to court, getting me a lawyer, and suing me for growing fond of the company. Then winning. More interesting mental images-Gimli in a tux and cologne.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: My chances of owning the _Lord of the Rings_ are about the same as for me to fall down a well, end up in feudal Japan, suddenly acquiring amazing abilities with a bow and arrow, meeting, freeing, and falling in love with a _Youkai_, and then growing up to be the queen of Mars.

* * *

Chapter Five

_Can you hear me now?_ I thought at Galadriel. It appeared she had some kind of long ranged telepathic ability. At some points, when I wasn't conversing with Elvis, I would talk to her. After a few days of general shock at this fact, I became used to it, and after a few more days of overused formality, I began to feel at ease. Which is good, because it can get really unnerving, knowing that someone can look right into your mind at any given moment.

_Yes,_ Galadriel replied.

_Good._ I chuckled.

_What was the purpose of that?_ Galadriel asked, puzzled. She generally respected my privacy and didn't pry into my mind whenever it suited her. I mentally sent her an image of the Verizon Wireless guy. She laughed lightly. In the small messages she sent to me, I was able to piece together a little about her: she was a good person, a leader among her people, and under a lot of pressure. Her powers had singled her out to be the guardian of the forest, and probably of the rest of Middle Earth. Middle Earth, she had explained to me, was what this place was called. Lorien and Moria and everything else. Because of her power, she was required to be constantly in and out of the mind of everyone in the forest, and perhaps everyone on the continent. She was forced to be the witness to war, death, crime, treachery, and every bad day ever experienced by these people. The stress that she was always under was unfathomable.

So I had made it my personal mission to make her laugh.

And frankly, I felt I was succeeding.

_How do you put a horse into an icebox_? I asked Galadriel.

_I did not realize that horses could enter iceboxes._

_It's easy. You open the box, put the horse in, and close the box._ There was another peal of laughter. _How do you put a dog in an icebox?_ I asked.

_Do you open the box, then place the dog into the box, and seal the box again?_

_Close. You open the box, take out the horse, put in the dog, and_ then _close the box._ I received a mental smile. I continued the joke: _the lord of the animals called a meeting, and all the animals came but one. Which one stayed behind?_

_The dog?_

_You're getting good at this. Okay: you have to cross a river, but there are no bridges or boats, and poisoned snakes live in the river. How do you get across?_ The joke had required a lot of modification, but it served its purpose.

_I'm not sure._ Galadriel said, anticipating the punch line of the riddle.

_You just swim across: all the snakes went to the meeting!_ Galadriel laughed openly this time, thoroughly enjoying the joke. I was taking another bath, this one late at night, carefully avoiding another accidental sighting. When my bath and long distance conversation were done, I toweled off and returned to my hollow.

_Oh yeah,_ I sent drowsily as I drifted off to sleep. _Where can I find Boromir? I need to return his cloak to him…_

That night I had another weird dream.

Gee, that's news.

This one was another Sqirrell Mafia dream, but the giant squirels were surrounding a small blue cat, loading slingshots with nuts and chanting _update, update!_ in a threatening way. After a while, my vision fuzzed, and I was in a schooner, talking to a pirate who looked remarkably like Legolas, while a drunk looking pirate walked by, commenting on the advantages of dishonesty. I then saw myself, sitting in a lay-Z-boy, typing up fanfictions while propping my keyboard up on my knees, and at the same time eating oreos and milk. Then the oreos turned into fish, which started flopping around until they spilled my milk. The milk continued to pour from the glass as though from a hose, until it became a rushing river, complete with rapids, running through my house. I, still in my Lay-Z-Boy, began to float down the river, still typing, until I was washed out of my house and into the grand canyon. While in the grand canyon, I saw a dog eared, silver haired youkai, a japanese schoolgirl, and a little kid with a tail, all on a raft, floating by, singing the princess pat. Then it started raining spiders and the powerpuff girls flew down and gave me a large orange umbrella. The wind suddenly picked up, and blew the umbrella, held by me, away, out into the stone garden. After I landed, I decided that I didn't want to take anymore trips, so I closed the umbrella. The object's tip brushed against a sapphire flower, shattering it. Once more, I was surrounded by the twinkling of breaking glass, until the ground beneath me disapeared.

And I was between the cliff and the road again. Only now, I was dangling at the base of the cliff, pulling myself up the steep surface. A drop of hot liquid touched my cheek, and I noticed that my hand was bleeding again.

And just to add to my confusion, the voice started yelling at me again.

"Choose! Only you command your fate now: Life or Death. Dark or Light. Hardship or Escape. Choose now! Choose! Only you can decide, and only now. Choose!" Another drop fell, this one landing in my eye, which hurt like a lot of things that I will not name.

"One second," I muttered at the voice, and let go of the cliff with my uninjured hand.

May I once more note that I am infinatly stupid when I am asleep.

I tried to rub the blood away, but as I did, a third ruby drop parted from my hand. It landed on my bottom lip, and I lost all grip of the rock face. I fell back, down onto a ground that was no longer there.

I woke up as the gray of night was just beginning to give way to the golden rays of sunshine. Elvis probably wouldn't be awake for a while, so I decided to chat with Galadriel.

_Hiya_. I thought.

_Hello, Stephanie_. Galadriel replied.

_Hey Galadriel, I was wondering something._

_What is it?_ Galadriel asked.

_Um… no offense or anything, but… are you a Vampire?_

_A what?_ Galadriel seemed thoroughly puzzled.

_Guess not._ I thought sheepishly. _Um… what are you, then? If you don't mind my asking, that is…_

I felt another peal of laughter from the friendly neighborhood telepath.

_Forgive me! I almost forgot how little you know of my kind. I am a High Elf._

_Spiffy! But what's that?_ Another peal of laughter. Obviously Galadriel was highly amused by my ignorance. Which is fine with me.

_Do you know what an Elf is?_

_My knowledge extends to really really short dudes who go around making toys and cookies for good little boys and girls._

_In Middle Earth, there is a race of beings such as myself, known as Elves. My kind are immortal and wise, and skilled craftsmen_-

_And craftswomen,_

_And craftswomen, and our works are legend among the other races._

_Spiffy! And just so I don't mess anything else up, could you tell me about the others? Please?_ I thought a sad puppy dog face at her. I received a mental smile.

_There are Men, mortal, and often misled by their greed. Also Dwarves, who are smaller, bearded, and lords of stone and earth. Hobbits there are as well, though they grow to be but the size of children. They can be naïve, but there is a deep and endearing wisdom in them._

_I hear that. Those little guys can be really cute sometimes._

_Yes. A truly childlike sweetness._

That was just about the end of our conversation, because that's about when Elvis came by my hallow.

"Did Stephses have a nice rests, Precious?" he asked. I smiled warmly.

"Yup. What about you?"

"We sleeps nice, yes," he said, stretching.

Galadriel was our guide as we explored that day. She gave me directions by thought, as was normal for me, and had me repeat the directions to Elvis. Apparently he still held a heavy grudge against the Elves, and probably would have had a seizure if one got in his head. We wandered closer to the Elves than I was used to, and on several occasions we came close to getting caught. Interestingly enough, every time an Elf came too close, he would suddenly look vague and distracted, then hurry off in some other direction. I thanked Galadriel for that. We found the Fellowship resting in a clearing, and both of us memorized the area immediately, and from there continued our watching game. Over the next few weeks, I made a few interesting observations.

Boromir was incredibly surprised to find his cloak, neatly folded next to his bed the next day.

Legolas and Aragorn both had an odd tendency to go wandering around the woods with the native Elves. I didn't understand why Aragorn, clearly human, was so interested in the forest, but I had no way to ask him about it, so I kept my questions to myself. I also spotted him occasionally muttering to himself in some other language. He kept repeating the word _Arwen,_ but then, that means about as much to me as a spoon full of cottage cheese.

For all I know, _Arwen_ might be Italian for _smiley face_.

Sam followed Frodo around mercilessly, though he seemed to finally have put down his pack, and not once on my watch did Sam take out a TV. Or an E-Book. Or a cell phone. Or an etch and sketch.

All he did-ever-was follow Frodo around.

I felt sincerely sorry for the poor Hobbit.

Merry and Pippin, who I had earlier counted on to cause trouble, were actually acting sober. Most of their time was occupied at staring at the giant trees and stones and looking awed.

Gimli kept himself entertained by talking about Galadriel. To anyone who would listen, he would rattle off every positive thing he could find about her. In immense detail. At one point I saw him telling a squirrel-I'm not kidding-about how perfect her nose was. He was actually pretty good with words, but his nonstop dreamy eyed compliments were beginning to scare me. I later informed Galadriel that she would soon have a stalker, and advised her to get a can of pepper spray.

Boromir remained relatively quiet, and the few times he spoke, it was about his home. His words were like poetry, all about his father and brother, and the White City where they lived now. Often I heard an edge of worry enter his voice, as he spoke of the Shadow from the East, and of enemy armies. I could almost see the glorious white tower in the distance, almost hear the ominous thunder of an army's march.

Of course, I had absolutely no idea why this Shadow thing would be such a big deal. But it was a cool story nonetheless.

Weeks passed, though they seemed a lot shorter than usual. Between Elvis and my spy game, my chats with Galadriel, my jump started bathing habits, and fishing, time went by quickly. And I was very sorry to learn that we would be leaving in a few days.

During one of the spy trips, the company informed Galadriel that it was time for them to continue on their quest.

Which, may I remind you, was to destroy a piece of jewelry.

Elvis and I held a council that afternoon.

I was prepped to give a really great speech to convince Elvis to let us keep following the Fellowship. Of course, since I would be the one giving the speech, and since my speech giving skills leave a lot to be desired, my intervention would probably resulted in us staying in Lorien forever.

Fortunately, Elvis stopped me before I said my first word.

"Stephses," he said, "we has to follow them." I was surprised, relieved, and a bit confused.

"Okay," I said.

"Stephses is happy with it, Precious?" he asked, about as surprised as I was.

"Yup." I said.

"Then… lets leaves one days after them, Precious."

"Sounds good to me," I said. As it turned out, councils between the two of us were notoriously short.

_Elvis and I will be leaving soon,_ I told Galadriel.

_Will you be following the Fellowship?_ She asked me.

_Yes. I'm not sure why though. It just… it just feels right, if you'll believe that._

_I believe it. And I had a feeling that you would. I have said before, Stephanie Gaia, that you still have a part to play in the destiny of Middle Earth. And I feel that that part will come among the Fellowship. But I have a surprise for you-hurry, go to your tree, I have a surprise for you._

_A surprise?_ I thought. _What is it?_ But Galadriel wouldn't tell me. She only laughed lightly and told me to go to my tree. Minutes later I was there, still trying to get Galadriel to tell me what the surprise was.

When I climbed up into my tree, I saw it-a small vessel, the same size and shape as a holly leaf, all silver and veined in gold, and it opened up, just like a locket. Inside was something like lip balm, a light green in color.

_It is_ mavelas, _a powerful healing salve. Rub some of this over any wound, and it will close, and heal perfectly and quickly. Use it wisely, for there is little._

_I-um-wow… Thank you._ I said. _Thank you so much. You have no idea how much this means to me._

_You are a good friend, Stephanie Gaia. I wish you safety on your journeys._ I mentally hugged Galadriel.

The salve wasn't the only gift I got from Galadriel. I also got a new set of cloths! They were made by the Elves, though they were made to look dwarven (I had to barrow some clothes from some of the larger corpses back in Moria. Let's face it-jeans and a tee shirt don't last forever.) for Elvis's sake. I also got a canteen (Galadriel called it a water skin, but I prefer canteen) and a special stone so I could sharpen the head of my spear (which I was only allowed to use after Galadriel told me how to use it). All my things were kept in a little backpack thing I also 'borrowed' from Moria.

I tried out the salve for the first time that night. My ankle, though it was healing, was still hurting me. So I rubbed a bit of it on my ankle. At first there was nothing. Then I felt a cool, soothing feeling wash through my ankle. By morning I could find no trace of the swelling or the bruise that had decorated my foot since I had entered Lorien.

When the Fellowship left, they went on the river by canoe. They had oars and a dry place to sit and everything.

When Elvis and I left, we went on the river by log. We sat on the log and took turns churning the water behind us so we would go faster. We were constantly wet, the only oars we got were our hands, and I got splinters.

Not that I'm bitter.

Actually, Galadriel offered to give us a boat. I ran this idea by Elvis, but he rejected it. With a passion. He went off on this little 'Elves will only hurt us and send armies to chase us, etc, etc,' spree, so I finally gave in and accepted his decision.

So, as I was saying, we were up a river on a log. For the sake of secrecy from the Fellowship, Elvis decided that we should stay as quiet as possible.

So that ruled out talking.

And riddles.

And singing The Princess Pat.

So instead, I entertained myself with my imagination. I thought of the looks I would have gotten from the preps and the jocks if I were suddenly to appear in the middle of high school one day. Then I entertained myself by writing an imaginary book-the Elvis/Steph Plan.

_On the Elvis/Steph plan, you can lose pounds by the hour! Trim that tummy! Tighten those thighs! You want toning? You got it! The secret? Start by eating fish! Exclusively. And only the fish that you catch with your bare hands, and/or with a spear. Then spend months on end rock climbing and swimming. Then learn how to use a spear and kick as many orc butts as humanly possible. When you're done with that, run a mini marathon with a group of men/hobbits/wizard/dwarf/elf who are perfectly happy with running night and day without rest. While your legs recover from that, go swimming every night, treat yourself with berries, eat more fish, and go climb a few dozen trees! And after that, why, it's the water disco!_

I then created a nifty little workout video to go with my current experience, just for those who couldn't exercise unless they were watching television.

_C'mon ladies! Work it! Now kick! Kick! Kick! Kick! Come on, we only have eighteen more miles to go! Kick! Kick! Kick!_

_And when your legs have all but fallen off…_

_Now for the arms! Stroke! Stroke! Stroke! Stroke!…_

I swore I would never watch another exercise video as long as I live.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: _The Implication of Darkness _is a part of this good breakfast and a good source of calcium, with milk added. This product may contain traces of orc. Suggested serving size is one and a half cups, based on a 2,000-calorie diet. I don't own diddly.

AN: sorry. Too much sugar. Sugar… maniacal grin

Chapter 6

A period of time passed uneventfully. Said period of time would constitute of about a week of paddling and kicking, seven sequels to my exercise plan, five thousand, eight hundred thirty-two trees, seventy-five squirrels, five hundred twenty-one birds, forty-two additional verses to the Princess Pat, eleven volumes of deep philosophy, and thirty-five raw fish.

I find it amazing how people can entertain themselves when bored.

Even the Fellowship was bored. They just paddled their blessed little canoes in silence, Sam sometimes glancing behind his boat, only to see a log floating down the river behind him. The rest just sat there and stared into space.

At one point, the cold and wetness finally got to me, and I began to get sick. This put me in a dilemma: I didn't want to lose the Fellowship after all this time, but I didn't feel up to paddling behind them. After several hours of debating, sneezing, a fever, and a sore throat, I decided to try Galadriel's salve again. Once more I rubbed a little of it on my skin, this time on my forehead, my throat, my nose, and every other part of my body that hurt. Surprisingly, the salve had the same effect on fevers and sore throats as on sprained ankles: by morning, I was as good as new. The bad news is that I was back to boredom.

Then, after the first seven days of monotony since Lorien, Aragorn stood up in his canoe, which I recall is not safe, because the little boat started to rock and sway. The movement startled me into awareness, and I lost count of how many fish I had counted since morning (ninety-three). I glanced up and saw what at first sight seemed to be two giant stone pillars. When I looked again, I could make out two giant figures, both wearing robes and crown-like helmets. One of them, bearded, held a sword at his side, the other, beardless, had a sword. Both of them had their left hand extended and their palm outward, looking as forbidding.

I lifted myself onto the log with my arms, my legs trailing in the water, all kicking forgotten. The detail in the figures was amazing. They were so real I almost thought they would blink, almost expected the hands to be emblazoned with soft fingerprints. And yet these statues were so huge, so overwhelming, so daunting…

I felt a prickling at my neck, and an uncomfortable feeling of being watched. I tore my gaze from the statues and glanced at the boats in front of me.

And found myself locked eye to eye with Boromir. For about a minute, we just stared at each other, neither one moving. He had apparently looked back while I was examining the statues and seen me, looking like I had just popped out of _the Little Mermaid._ I felt my cheeks burning, and the sudden desire to lay down and die.

"Boromir?" Pippin asked from the front of Boromir's boat. For an instant, the man shifted, his eyes turned away from me. I seized the opportunity with both arms and slipped back into the water as fast as humanly possible, if not faster, though careful not to cause a splash and attract any more attention.

"Frodo," Aragorn said, moments after I fled into the water. "The Argonath." _The arbor-what?_ I thought, silently gasping for breath at the base of the log. "Long have I desired to look upon the kings of old, my kin." It took me about an hour to piece that together

I didn't mind. I was too embarrassed to count fish anyway. In the end, I got something kind of bizarre: if the 'kings of old', otherwise known as royal dead guys, were his 'kin', as in family, then that would make our smelly little sword slinger who seemed incapable of taking a bath… that would make him royalty.

We had a prince/king/duke/whatever on our hands, and he was running around in the middle of the wilderness, sleeping out of doors (according to all the movies I have ever seen, this is physically impossible for a sovereign), and being followed almost obsessively by a teenage girl. This was a bit more than I could handle, so I decided to go into denial and concluded that I had misheard, and returned to wallowing in embarrassment about Boromir. Go figure.

For the next three days, I stayed plastered to the bottom of the log, the blush stained against my cheeks. I had messed up. Again. Boromir had seen me. Again.

I heard once that everyone had a little dark cloud once in a while. But if that was true, mine housed a tornado. I mentally beat myself to a pulp before I found the silver lining on my little funnel cloud.

This time, at least, I was actually dressed.

The Fellowship stopped for the night on the western bank of the river. Eager to stay near our quarries and desperate for a rest, Elvis and I pulled our log to the bank about a hundred yards behind the Fellowship. We then stalked to their campsite, settled in one of the trees, and listened to their conversation. Or half listened, in my case. I was a bit preoccupied with massaging my sore legs and studying the fact that the landscape was dotted with statues.

"…just a simple matter of finding our way through Emyn Muil? An _impossible labyrinth of razor sharp rocks?_ And after that, it gets even better!" Gimly said, nearly hysterical. Something touched the edge of my mind. Something familiar… "Ferstering, stinking marshland, as far as the eye can see!" I became suddenly aware of Gimli's acute love of adjectives.

"That is our road," Aragorn said, sounding like he was trying to reassert his authority. Despite the fresh knowledge that he was… royalty… he seemed to be strained. It sounded as though his confidence was beginning to wear away. "I suggest you take some rest and recover your strength, Master Dwarf," Gimli's eyes widened.

"Recover my-" he seethed. He muttered angrily to himself.

"We should leave now," Legolas muttered to Aragorn, ignoring Gimli.

_NO!_ I mentally screamed at him, desperately wishing I had the Force. _NO! Don't even think of it! My legs are about to fall off, you toy tinker! Besides, you guys just ate and everything. You'll get cramps and drown and stuff like they do on TV. Tell him, Sam! Tell him you guys shouldn't leave yet! Think about Frodo, (it isn't like you ever stop fretting about him)!_ I glanced around for Frodo, preparing to mentally yell at him too. But Frodo wasn't there. I looked again. Boromir had also noticed Frodo's absence, and was slowly rising and creeping into the forest. I found this behavior strange and suspicious, so I followed above him, moving from tree to tree over his head like some kind of giant hairless squirrel.

The two of us moved oddly quickly. Boromir seemed driven by some strange force, though he kept absently picking up a part of a tree branch. I was curious. Where was he going? Lost in my thoughts, I let my spear collide with a tree branch, resulting in a loud _thud_. Boromir stopped and looked around, alarmed, nearly dropping the small bundle of wood. His eyes sifted through the branches above him, but I was experienced at hiding at a moment's notice, and I was well hidden in a thick patch of leaves. We stalked on for a while, until we came to part of a stone figure, something that looked like the head of a sleeping giant. Wandering in front of the head was Frodo, apparently lost in his thoughts.

"None of us should wander alone," Boromir said suddenly, picking up another piece of wood. "You least of all. So much depends on you." Frodo looked startled, almost afraid. "Frodo?" Boromir approached the Hobbit. "I know why you seek solitude. You suffer. I see it day by day. Are you sure you do not suffer needlessly? There are other ways, Frodo. Other paths that we might take." He was still advancing.

"I know what you would say," Frodo said. "And it would seem like wisdom, but for the warning in my heart,"

"Warning? Warning against what? We are all afraid, Frodo. But to let that fear drive us to destroy what hope we have? Don't you see, that's madness!"

"There is no other way." Frodo protested.

"I ask only for the strength to defend my people!" Boromir cried, throwing the wood against the ground in a burst of rage. "If you would but lend me the Ring…" Boromir moved closer. Something was very wrong.

"No!" Frodo stumbled back.

"Why do you recoil-I am no thief!" Boromir shouted.

"You are not yourself." Frodo turned and began to walk away.

"What chance do you think you have?" Boromir chased after the hobbit. I began to climb down from the tree. I didn't know why, or what I would do once on the ground. I just knew I needed to get out of the tree. "They will find you. They will take the Ring. And you will beg for death before the end!" He broke into a run. I followed, horrified. "It is not yours save by happy chance. It could have been mine. It should be mine! Give it to me!" he pounced on Frodo, pinning the Hobbit to the ground.

"No!"

"Boromir!" I shouted, running to them.

"_Give it to me_!"

"Boromir! Stop it!" I cried again, pulling at his shoulder.

"_Give me the Ring!_"

"NO!" Frodo shouted. His hands flew to his throat, I saw a glint of gold, and he disappeared. Boromir pawed at the ground madly.

"Boromir, no! Stop it! Get up!" I shouted. I was pulling his shirt for what seemed to be my dear life. His head jerked back suddenly, as though he had been struck, and I felt something brush my arm, though I couldn't see anything there.

"I see your mind," Boromir snarled into the air, beginning to rise. "You will take the ring to Sauron. You go to your death, and the death of us all!"

"Stop it! Boromir, please!"

"Curse you! Curse you! And all the Halflings!"

"Stop!" I screamed, pulling at his shirt with all my might. Boromir jerked back, lost his balance, and toppled onto his back, right over me. He hit his head on a stone going down, and for a moment he was out of it. I leaned over him, checking to see if he was all right, ready to pin him to the ground if he kept shouting. Boromir came to a moment later. I saw his eyes focus on me, and something in his face changed.

"It's you…" he whispered. His expression was that of surprise.

"Yes. Are you all right?" I asked gently.

"I… I am. Thank you…" suddenly his eyes widened in horror. "No… Frodo? Where is Frodo?" he asked me, despair growing in his voice.

"He disappeared." Boromir rose shakily to his knees.

"Frodo?" he called. "What have I done? Please, Frodo…" His voice grew thick with grief. Tears began to form in his eyes. "Frodo! I'm sorry!"

And Boromir began to cry. He struggled to look calm, collected, but he couldn't.

"I'm sorry…" he murmured again. I leaned forward and wrapped my arms around him, giving him a tight squeeze.

"It's okay," I whispered to him as he hugged me back. "It's all going to be okay. Shh. Don't worry," I felt like an idiot: I was in the middle of nowhere, trying to comfort this great warrior, physically unable to find something to do or say that would make things okay again, and finally resorting to hugging him. That and trying to cope with why Boromir had just lost it like that and why and how Frodo had disappeared. I'm not sure how long we stayed like that, but finally Boromir broke away and dried his face.

"Are you alright?" I asked quietly. He looked at me and smiled. It was a real smile, brimming with gratitude and relief and… something else. Something I couldn't place.

It was a perfect moment.

And as we all know, perfect moments are meant to be short.

Because that's when the orcs came.

Almost simultaneously, Boromir and I looked at the sudden wave of rushing figures, then looked back at each other. I must have looked scared out of my wits, if not a bit flustered, but Boromir looked driven and ready for action, his sword drawn. I smiled.

"Let's do this," I said. In a flash I grabbed my spear and was at his side.

The way orcs attack reminds me a bit of cockroaches, or ants. They just keep coming and coming, and when one dies, the rest just run over him. Of course, if they were ants, they'd be a lot easier to get rid of, because I have quick feet and ants are small and crunchy. Though if they were cockroaches, I don't think a spear would get rid of them. Nothing kills cockroaches. Especially not the big ones. Eww.

The fighting was brutal. I stabbed and smacked with my spear, dodging the orcs to the best of my ability, while Boromir slashed and cut his way through their forces. At first he was surprised that I was going to be in the battle, but he quickly got over that and joined the fray.

"You have skill with a spear," he said through the turmoil, bringing down another orc.

"Thank you, but my skill is amateur," I replied, skewering an orc myself.

"Not at all, fair lady," he said. I felt my cheeks go red. "You have true talent. In my land, few can wield a spear with such accuracy. And fewer women fight," he decapitated two orcs with one swing, while I knocked one to the ground and stabbed it.

"With men such as yourself to keep them safe, I doubt they would ever need to take up arms," I said. "But women can fight when they have to," I tripped one orc with the shaft of my spear and saw him fall into another orc's sword. Ten more orcs fell before the area was clear.

"Are you hurt?" Boromir asked me.

"No… I'm fine," I answered. "Are you?"

"I have suffered a scratch, but nothing more." He motioned to a cut on his arm. It wasn't huge, but it was no scratch. "Let us go."

"Go? Where?" I asked.

"I doubt that those were the only orcs to reach this place. Aragorn and the others will want our aid in this matter," Boromir began to hurry to the camp.

"Right. Let's go." I said, joining him. We didn't have to go far. After a few hundred feet we saw another wave of the black armored orcs. There seemed to be hundreds of them. But that's not what really scared me. The things that scared me were the two small figures they were chasing.

Merry and Pippin.

"Rrraaaaaauuuuuggggghhhh!" Boromir cried, charging at the army, taking down at least a dozen of the orcs on impact.

"Remember the Alamo!" I shouted, for lack of a better battle cry, rushing after him. At least ten soldiers stopped suddenly and just stared at me. Which was wonderful for me, because I brought them down almost effortlessly. Ten down was great, but for every one that died, two more rushed toward me.

Boromir, Merry, Pippin, and I were soon surrounded by a sea of orcs. The hobbits had drawn out little swords and started hacking at their attackers, but the situation seemed hopeless. No matter how I looked at it, no matter how many orcs were falling because of my spear, there seemed to be no way of winning. No way to get out of this alive. I noticed Boromir from the corner of my eye. Still fighting, he had raised his horn to his mouth and sent out a blast of sound. For a moment, all of the orcs froze. Shortly after that, more than twenty of them died, due to the combined efforts of two hobbits, Boromir and myself.

But more orcs came. Boromir sent out another blast of clear sound. The orcs halted for less than a second, then were back in action. More came. As I fought, I felt as though I was watching the battle from far away. My actions seemed to become mechanical: swing, hit, swing, slash, swing, hit… a few of the orcs managed to nick me, drawing a bit of blood, but never much. I was still on my feet, still fighting. And the orcs were beginning to retreat.

One of the orcs stepped out from behind a tree, in his hand a bow. As I knocked one of his fellows to the ground, I met his gaze for an instant. He grinned, fitted an arrow to his bow, and took aim.

I froze.

The arrow flew through the air with a _twang_, its head aimed directly at my heart.

_Oh no,_ I pleaded silently. _I don't want to die. Not now_. _Please…_

The arrow came to a sudden halt.

It had embedded itself deep in Boromir's right shoulder. Boromir had dashed in front of me at the last moment, taking my blow.

Boromir fell back slightly from the force of the arrow. Merry and Pippin cried out again, hacking and slashing with all their might. I speared a nearby orc who was coming after Boromir from behind.

There was another sharp twang. Boromir recoiled for an instant, then continued to slash at the orcs. As he turned I saw that a second arrow had hit him, lodging itself in his ribs. I ran at the archer. I had to stop him. I had to do something.

I heard Merry and Pippin cry out, and glanced back for an instant as they were grabbed from the ground by two orcs. A few of the retreating orcs passed in front of me, and the hobbits had disappeared from my sight.

Ready to scream with despair, I looked up. Boromir had fallen to his knees, breathless, and the archer was standing near him, readying another arrow. Desperate, I threw my spear at the archer. The projectile hit its mark, and the orc spun, dropping his bow.

But he didn't fall. His glare turned to me, and murder was in his eye. He pulled my spear out of his chest and came after me. He stabbed at me, but I dodged behind a tree. There was a thud, as the spear was embedded in trunk. The orc pulled out a dagger, my spear forgotten, and continued his chase. I rushed around the tree and began tugging at my weapon. The orc came up behind me, ready to bring the blade down on my back…

When my spear came free. I fell back into the orc, sending us both to the ground. I seized the opportunity with all enthusiasm.

"PERVERT!" I shouted at the top of my lungs, slapping the orc. Besides trying to kill me, he hadn't actually done anything, but I always wanted to do that. I grabbed my spear and his dagger and rolled off of him. The orc, slightly confused, grabbed a sword and shield and rose to his feet, ready for another round. He shook his head and was instantly aware again, now more enraged than ever. He lunged at me, ready to kill.

I became suddenly aware of the fact that a spear, which is made out of wood, is no defense against a sword in one on one combat.

Aragorn chose just that moment to leap out of who knows where and send the orc flying. I sent a quick prayer up in thanks.

"You take care of him," I called to Aragorn. "I'll help Boromir," I probably shouldn't have called, because for a moment, Aragorn stopped, his face turned a deep crimson, and then he resumed in fighting the orc.

Clearly he still remembered the incident at the pond.

I rushed over and knelt by Boromir's side. He was as pale as death and leaning weakly against a tree. From his chest stood three arrows. I squeezed Boromir's hand, searching my mind for anything I ever learned in Health class, Girl Scouts, or television. I finally found something useful.

"Okay," I said. "Um… Brace yourself…this is going to hurt a bit."

"Wha-aaauurrgh…" Boromir winced. I had pulled one of the arrows from his chest, and judging by the barbed head, it must have really hurt.

"Sorry," I said, reaching for another arrow. "I swear, give me a second and it'll be over,"

"Leave it!" Boromir gasped, batting my hand aside.

"You wish," I said gently. "Now brace yourself," I pulled out another arrow. Boromir didn't cry out this time, but he was paler than ever, and his breathing had gone haggard. His forehead was becoming damp with sweat.

"Just one more." I tried to be reassuring. I gave one more pull and the last arrow came out.

_Now what?_ I asked myself.

_Girl scouts, you idiot. Bandage the wound._ Myself answered.

_How, exactly, am I supposed to do that?_ I snapped. _It's not like I've been to Wal-Mart lately, and I'm all out of Band-Aids._

I heard Aragorn's battle cry, followed by a metallic swish and a thump. I glanced up to see that Aragorn had succeeded in decapitating his opponent. He cleared his head and jogged over to Boromir and me.

"Aragorn," I muttered. "I need bandages. Fast."

_Now what?_ I wondered.

_You'll need to take off his shirt._ My sensible, first aid savvy side said.

_Eww…_

_It won't do him any good if you bandage his clothes. You have to get at the wound itself, and that is under his shirt._

_But…_

_Stop being a baby and get to work!_

I ignored the fact that my face was getting red and began to pull at Boromir's tunic. As gently as humanly possible, I pulled the cloth over his head and put it aside. Just to find that he was wearing leather armor. I struggled with the clasps that held the leather to his chest and began to pry that layer off him. Under that was another shirt. It might have been white once.

But not anymore.

It had been dyed bright red. I helped Boromir out of this garment as well, though struggling not to throw up. Aragorn was busy cutting a black cloak into long ribbons, evidently for bandages. I grabbed the hood of the shredded cloak and tried to clean Boromir's wounds, but they were bleeding heavily, and the hood was quickly saturated.

_What do I do?_ I pleaded silently. _What do I do?_ I could think of nothing. _If only Galadriel were here, she would know what-_ _Of course!_ I pulled the case of salve out of my pocket.

"Please let this work," I muttered, rubbing some of the salve into Boromir's wound. As I applied the salve I prayed, and I saw something miraculous. Though I had used little of the Mavelas, it was filling the wound, keeping the blood contained, just like one of those nifty liquid Band-Aids. I quickly spread salve in the other two wounds and watched in awe as the wounds were closed.

"What magic is this?" Boromir asked wearily. Aragorn had finished cutting the bandages.

"The good kind," I said simply. Aragorn nodded in wonder, then produced a clean cloth and helped me clean Boromir up. "Okay… the bleeding's stopped, but we have to make sure it stays that way. Boromir, can you sit up?" I asked.

"Of course," he said. He tried to rise, but slowly returned to the ground, his face contorted into a look of frustration.

"That's alright," I said gently. Aragorn and I helped Boromir into a sitting position. I gathered the strips of cloth and began to wrap them around his torso in a crude bandage.

"Aragorn," Boromir said quietly. "They have taken the little ones."

"No…" Aragorn muttered, alarmed.

"Where is Frodo?" Boromir asked.

"I let him go," Aragorn said.

"Then you did what I could not. I…" Boromir looked at me. "I tried to take the Ring from Frodo." I had no idea why this ring was so important, but I could read the shame in his voice well enough to keep quiet.

Aragorn looked even more alarmed, then allowed a pained smile to cover his face.

"The Ring is out of our reach now," he said. Legolas and Gimli walked onto the scene at the next moment, just as I finished bandaging Boromir's chest.

"What under the Mountain…" Gimli sputtered. I suddenly remembered that he had never seen me before. I waved gingerly.

"Um… hi." I said.

"Aragorn," Legolas said. "What has happened here?"

"The orcs have captured Merry and Pippin," Aragorn said. Their faces fell. Legolas breathed deeply for a moment, then looked at Boromir with concern.

"And Boromir?" Legolas asked. Boromir shook his head slowly.

"I was hurt, but my injuries have been treated," he said. "They will heal quickly enough."

"And who under ground or over it is she?" Gimli snapped. Clearly this was a good question, because everyone was suddenly looking at me expectantly. I suddenly found myself wishing the earth would open up and swallow me whole. What was I supposed to say? 'I'm just the girl who's been stalking you since Moria, and no, you shouldn't feel at all disturbed about this or anything, because it happens all the time where I come from.' Even in my head it sounded stupid. I swallowed and smiled nervously.

"She is a friend," Boromir said. "And the one who saved me from certain death." I sent him a million mental thank you cards. I took a deep breath.

"My name is Stephanie," I said quietly.

"Lady Stephanie," Boromir said, looking me straight in the eye. "Thank you. It seems I owe you my life," I smiled.

"No," I said. "I think we are about even." There was a clang in the distance as a disembodied helmet went crashing into the ground a few dozen yards from us. Boromir, Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli all turned instinctively, weapons drawn, ready to take down any new enemy. I seized the opportunity and disappeared into the forest. A few minutes later I was in the trees next to Elvis.

"Thanks for the diversion," I said quietly. "Perfectly executed."

"We has to go after the hobbits, Precious. Across the river and over rockses…" Elvis said. "Is she coming, Stephses?" I smiled.

"Yes, I'm coming."

AN: Oh goodie! Long chapter! … or longer than I'm used to, anyway… Oh well…


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: If I owned LotR, Legolas would not even appear in this fiction. He'd be at my house, having hot cocoa. And I'd be making that hot cocoa with milk instead of hot water. And with marshmellows and cinnamon and with Legolas...

Chapter Seven

We waited a while before setting out after Frodo and Sam.

Specifically, after the shredded, dirty, and thankfully still living remnants of the Fellowship got out of sight of shore. Which took a while, actually.

The four of them started on a miniature search party once they discovered that I was gone. Maybe I should be flattered or something because they valued me enough to be worried about me, or something else like that. But frankly, as nice as it looks on a greeting card, I was a little bit eager to get out of these guys' heads. True, stalking them in secret was plenty of fun, but now that the secret was out (and the memmory of me in my undies fresh in everyone's mind), I came to the realization that I was needed elsewhere.

Preferably somewhere where my cheeks wouldn't burn _nearly _as much.

Thankfully, after about a half hour of solid searching, it was determined that I had dissapeared.

"But where under the Mountain did the lass get to?" Gimli demanded. Boromir looked pensively at the river.

"I don't think you will find her under the mountain," he said.

"Do you have any clues?" Aragorn asked.

"Perhaps," Boromir said. "Or perhaps not. I have seen her three times..." _Oh no_, I thought, my face flushing crimson. _Please don't_... "Once in a pond in Lorien. Once in the river. And before we were attacked, she approached me, not far from the shore. I noticed her clothes were wet..."I looked down and realized that my clothes were still wet. Uncomfortably so, in fact. Which suprised me, considering that I hadn't noticed up until then, and he had. "...And the magics she used..." he trailed off. This all meant nothing to me, except that I had spent an uncomfortable amount of time in water recently, and I could probably afford to do less bathing. But it seemed to greatly impress his companions.

"A water spirit!" Aragorn said reverently.

I almost fell out of my tree.

"This bodes well," Legolas breathed.

"We're going to need all the luck we can get, laddie," Gimli nodded. But Boromir wasn't listening. He had walked over to the river, and was now gazing at it with a soft smile on his face. Slowly, reverently, he knelt down and lowered his precious horn into the waters.

"Thank you," he murmured, unaware that I was sitting a few dozen feet away from him. His sacrifice was touching, even though his horn had been split in half, and I had to fight the urge to run down and rescue the heirloom before it dissappeared.

Legolas finally approached, though not to join his freind. I was personally very happy about this. I had a feeling that bad things would probably follow if the Elf's bow suddenly floated away on the currents of the vast river. Instead, he bowed his head in respect for a moment, then grabbed one of the Lorien boats and shoved it into the water.

"Hurry!" he said. "Frodo and Sam have reached the eastern shore." I looked up. True enough, another boat had been hauled up on the opposite bank, and two Hobbits could be seen scurrying through the trees not far away from it. My gaze fell on the Hobbits' former companions.

Legolas still looked determined, as did Gimli. But the two humans stood perfectly still, absolutely silent.

"You do not mean to follow them?" Legolas asked, a slight pain entering his normally composed voice.

"Frodo's fate is no longer in our hands..." Aragorn said quietly.

"Then it has all been in vain!" Gimli cried in despair. I flinched. "The fellowship has failed." Boromir looked away. Aragorn stepped forward, putting his hands on Legolas and Gimli's shoulders.

"Not if we hold true to each other," he said softly. "We will not abandon Merry and Pippin to torment and death. Not while we have strength left." He stood up. "Leave all that can be spared behind. We travel light." He looked his three companions in the eyes. "Let us hunt some orc!" The three looked at each other, finding heart in his words. Smiles began to form on their faces.

"YES!" Gimli cried, laughing maniacally. A few moments later Aragorn took off through the trees, followed closely by a dwarf, an elf, and another man.

Elvis and I crept down from our perch when they were gone.

"Good luck, boys," I said with a soft smile before turning to my friend. "What luck! They left us a boat!" Elvis grimaced, obviously still offended at the suggestion that we might actually sit inside a nice, safe, dry, pretty elvish boat. Knowing better than to argue, I looked dryly down at him. "All rightie, Captain Pikard, what do you suggest?" Elvis looked at me blankly for a few moments, then scurried back to our faithful log. I decided to, for the sake of a good atitude, replace my scream of annoyance with a chipper 'All righty! Down, down, and a-wet!'. Again, Elvis shot me a blank stare.

As revenge for making me get in the icy water again, I told Elvis that I was tired, and sat uselessly on our little raft, giving a new meaning to the pharse 'bump on a log' and let him do all the paddling. He didn't seem to mind.

Once we reached the opposite shore, we left our wretched little log in the company of the grand elvish boat, which seemed to mock be mocking our ragged state and transportation. I shrugged it off and quickly followed Elvis, who had started galloping after the hobbits, still distantly visible through the trees.

"Stay down, Stephses," he whispered as we went further from the shore.

"Right," I said. He had a point in his warning: up until then, there had been almost no need for discretion (evidenced by the incident with me bathing...) due to dark, panic, and a general lack of attention up until then. So I solemnly agreed to be more careful.

Of course, this is coming from the girl who was covered in tapioca and hung from the High School flagpole...

"Mordor..." Frodo said an hour later. The sky was beginning to darken, and they had stopped by a large pool of water, probably meant to go along with the crumbled statues, at the top of a high hill. "I hope they find a safer road..." Safe from my perch behind one of said statues, I decided that he was talking about his friends. Evidently he didn't know about the kidnapping of Merry and Pippin.

"Strider will look after them," Sam said. This made me wonder. Was strider some kind of hobbit diety? I had heard Frodo calling that name before, once. In the mines, though it had been thouroughly muffled, and I had been running for my life.

"I don't suppose we'll ever see them again," Frodo mused sadly, returning me to the present reality.

"We may yet, Mr. Frodo. We may." I liked that about Sam. He always brough a bright side to a situation.

And a toaster, and a television, and a length of rope, and an inflatable rubber raft...

"Sam, I'm glad you're with me," Frodo said, turning to his freind with a faint smile. I silently agreed. Frodo was just too angsty to be on a dangerous journey like this by himself. The whole balance of YinYang and Karma might be displaced, if not for someone upbeat and positive and able to carry thousands of pounds on his back like Sam.

Frodo evidently did not catch on to my mental musings, and began to walk on. Sam hesitated for a moment, glancing behind him in our general direction, as though he had heard something. He shrugged and hurried after Frodo, down the slope.

AN: That was short, but hey, you had a six page chapter last time (how long ago...oops...) and besides, that's the end of the movie. More in a little bit on TTT. I swear. I've already written a few scenes, but the Taming of Smeagol is probably going to take me a while, so don't hold your breath. I'm serious. Don't. I need my reviewers.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: Just because I have been having so much trouble in math, I will be adding torture to my disclaimer. What I own is equal to:

6k+3/7-4(2+3Y)

0

For the mathematically challenged, like myself, this equals NOTHING!

AN: Hi. Thank you to my loyal reviewers. This chapter was a bit longer origionally, but I trimmed off a little of the end and used it to start the next chapter. All this does is gets me to update faster. And it was more complete where I left off. Sorry if it's too short. But then, I've done worse. I published that 50 word story once...

**

* * *

**

**Chapter 8 **

If I really hated someone, and wanted them to die a slow, miserable death, alone and desolate...

In other words, if it was at all possible to bring the entirety of the cheerleading squad, the football and wrestling teams, and any of their sick little friends to Middle Earth, I know where I would send them.

Emyn Muil.

Fondly known as a the Rocky Maze of Monotony.

The scenery was very decorative: there were rocks. Not like in one of those pretty rock gardens they have in Japan. Nope. Just big hulking rocks. All of them brown (or for variety, gray!) and just... sitting there.

Not exactly impressive. The problem was that there were practically no trees. Or rivers. Or birds.

Which left us two problems: first off, since all the rocks looked alike, it was close to impossible to tell where you were or where you had been. This was not a problem for me, because we were following Frodo and Sam anyway, and Elvis seemed to already know his way around here pretty well. The real issue, though, was a little more serious: no animals, birds, trees, or any shrubbery in particular meant, eventually: nothing to eat. I hadn't thought to pick more than a few berries earlier, not that I had found any, and as for fish...

I had no idea whatsoever how to smoke fish. And they smell really bad if they're left out too long...

Which left us with no food but what was already in our bellies and a few handfulls of berries.

That put aside, hiding from Frodo and Sam (who were, in fact, hopelessly lost) wasn't an issue. As long as I kept my thoughts of begging food off them to myself, they had no way of spotting us amongst the jagged terrain. Sometimes it can be a good thing not to take a bath in days. Frodo was no better for the wear. He often started from his sleep, shouting Gandalf's name. Sam tried his best to help him, but there was little he could do to chase away nightmares.

Three days had passed since the elves had entered the maze of rock. Elvis and I were perched on a rather steep precipice, surrounded by a soupy mist, and listening to the exploits of our little hobbits. We were only about ten feet away from where they had securely fastened a rope that Galadriel had given them in Lorien. Elvis refused to touch it. Suprise, suprise...

"Can you see the bottom?" Sam called out. A redundant question, in my oppinion. They hadn't seen us when we were only a few feet away from them (evidently they mistook us for small stones), and I seriously doubted that they would be able to see the ground from wherever they hung.

"No!" Frodo confirmed my suspicioun. "Don't look down, Sam! Just keep going!" I rolled my eyes. Elvis gestured for me to follow him down a nearby ledge.

"Catch it!" Sam cried suddenly. "Grab it, Mr. Frodo!" I turned my head sharply to see what Frodo was to catch, but saw nothing through the fog. I heard a satisfied "Ah!" from Frodo, followed by a sudden cry of distress. "MR. FRODO!" Sam nearly screamed, the sound multiplied to a bellow by the rocks. I heard a shallow thump.

"I think I found the bottom," Frodo said calmly. I hurried down after Elvis, cursing the fog for making the handholds so slick.

"Bogs and rope, and goodness knows what..." Sam muttered as we reached the bottom. We waited for their backs to turn, then snuck up behind them. I knelt down and threw a hood over my head, and Elvis rolled into a ball. Once more we looked like a pair of regular rocks. "It's not natural. None of it." _Especially not the scenery_, I thought. Frodo turned back to us and examined a small box in his hand.

"What's in this?" he asked.

"Nothing. Just a bit of seasoning..." Sam said shyly. "I thought maybe if we was having a roast chicken one night or something..."

I could have leapt for joy. I knew my Sam would pull through for us!

"Roast chicken!" Frodo cried in disbeleif.

"Roast chicken?" I echoed hungrily. Both hobbits turned around quickly, searching for the source of the sound. Not even suspecting, I noticed with some confidence, that the owner of the voice was sitting a few feet in front of them, in plain sight.

"Blasted rocks..." Sam muttered, writing my outburst off as an echo. "You never know." My heart sank when I realized that he was talking about the chicken.

"Sam. My dear Sam," Frodo said, laughing lightly. _At least the poor hobbit had brightened _somebody's _day,_ I thought dismally.

"It's very special, that," Sam said proudly. "It's the best salt in all the Shire." I wondered vaguely what the Shire was.

"It is special," Frodo agreed, giving the box back to Sam. "It's a little bit of home." He looked back at the rope. "We can't leave this here for someone to follow us down." I almost laughed. _Yup,_ I thought. _The only way to get down here from up there is to climb down your rope. Can't argue with that. Not at all._

"Who's gonna follow us down here, Mr. Frodo?" Sam asked. "It's a shame, really. Lady Galadriel gave me that." I realized that some people actually called Galadriel 'lady.' The discovery was short of shocking. "Real Elvish rope." I smirked. I was wearing, outside of Elvis' knowledge, real Elvish clothes. "Well, there's nothing for it. It's one of my knots. Won't come free in a hurry." He gave the rope a goodbye tug, and it immediately came tumbling down. I reminded myself never to trust Sam's rope tying skills. Frodo did not look suprised.

"Real Elvish rope," he said simply. Sam shrugged and collected the rope, depositing it in his pack before walking into the mist after Frodo. After they had dissapeared from view, Elvis and I relinquished our hiding spots. The fog was starting to clear, and we probably wouldn't be able to play 'Candid Camera' again until it came back.

We caught up to the hobbits as they were, you guessed it, climbing over some more suspiciously familiar rocks.

"Mordor," Sam observed in despair. "The one place in Middle Earth we don't want to see any closer. And it's the one place we're trying to get to. It's just the place where we can't get." He turned to his companion. "Let's face it, Mr. Frodo. We're lost. I don't think Gandalf meant for us to come this way." I saw Frodo flinch at the sound of the name.

"He didn't mean for a lot of things to happen, Sam," he said softly. "But they did." He looked out into the distance, but suddenly went rigid. He gasped and gripped something on his chest. I started, worried he was having a heart attack. At the corner of my eye, however, I saw Elvis, frozen and pressed desperately against the rocks, his eyes wide. I tapped him on the shoulder, wondering if he, too, had undergone a seizure.

"Mr. Frodo?" Sam asked, his voice veined with worry. "It's the Ring, isn't it?" I tapped Elvis again, and he looked up, startled, and nodded that he was all right.

"It's getting heavier," Frodo said grimly. Elvis shakily walked to the edge of the rocks we were hiding behind, and with me watched Sam take off his backpack (always a suspensefull event) and examine its contents. "What food have we got left?" Frodo asked.

"Let me see..." Sam said, rummaging through it. "Oh, yes. Lovely. Lembas bread. And look! _More _Lembas bread." By the tone of his voice, he wasn't nearly as thrilled as he was trying to be. Sam took out what appeared to be a large cracker wrapped in a leaf, and handed a peice to Frodo. He took a bite himself and chewed thoughtfully. "I don't usually hold with foreign food," he said through a mouthfull. "But this Elvish stuff, it's not bad." Frodo smiled.

"Nothing ever dampens your spirits, does it, Sam?" The hobbit in question looked at the sky and shrugged.

"Those rain clouds might." I winced. As much as I enjoy water, I like it in bodies. As in lakes, rivers, oceans, stuff like that. Even a puddle will do. But rain... rain was not on the 'Make Stephanie Happy' list. Not without an umbrella.

After several long periods of begging and nagging, Elvis finally yeilded and showed me to a heap of rock that hung dejectedly over a narrow crawl space. It wasn't comfortable, but it was dry. The hobbits weren't as lucky. They were left to sit miserably under a shallow ledge not far away, with large, sad looking drops falling endlessly on their cloaks. Poor, dejected little things. They decided to refrain from talking, after thier first attempt ended as follows:

"It's raining."

"Yes it is."

"Really hard."

"Yup."

"You know, I heard a joke about rain once."

"Really?"

"Yes, I did."

"How does it go?"

"...I forgot it."

"I see...It's raining."

"You don't say."

I don't bother to mention who said what, because they traded off every so often. Eventually they lapsed into silence, until at last the rain ended, when they hastily scrambled to their feet and continued thier way over the rocks.

Staying out of sight was made even easier shortly after this, as I slid several times while prying myself out of the rocks, until I was at last coated with mud. My trusty spear had also gotten its share of filth, and now looked more like an old tree branch than a weapon. We continued on this way, Elvis looking a lot like the Swamp Monster from Planet X, and I was eternally thankful for the lack of mirrors in the area. Apparently, I could easily have scored the part of the Bride of the Monster of the Son of the Martian Slime Thing. Evidently, Frodo and Sam did not share in our misery. They were only concerned that the rock they were climbing over was the same one they had sheltered under in the morning.

"This looks strangely familiar," Sam observed. _And I look strangely muddy. I wonder why?_ I thought, biting back my sarcasm.

"Because we've been here before!" Frodo cried angstily. "We're going in circles." Sam nodded, then recoiled his head.

"Ugh! What is that horrid stink?" I discreetly checked my underarms, and jumped back myself. Yup, I'd found the culprit. "I warrant there's a nasty bog nearby. Can you smell it?" I breathed a sigh of releif. Of course Frodo couldn't. He didn't have a dog nose or anything...

"Yes, I can smell it." Or maybe he did. I put my hands protectively over my armpits. "We're not alone." My eyes widened. Sure, I hadn't taken a bath in days. Sure, I was coated in mud and grime and all manner of animal excrements. Sure, I was now indiscernable from most frogs. But I didn't smell _that_ bad. Did I?

Frodo led Sam away from my putrid stench... To a rock ledge, a few hundred yards away. Elvis, finally realizing my sudden drop in self esteem, led me to a creek, and returned to watch our quarries while I happily cleansed myself and my clothes. Once I changed into dry clothes I returned to find the hobbits making camp against a rock face, looking altogether satisfied with themselves. Elvis directed me to our own camp, just at the top of the same rock, about fifty feet over their heads. He left me to prepare for bed as he departed, only to come back several minutes later with a fish in his hand a second in his mouth. He was also dripping wet, but clean, which was good by me. We watched them settle against the meager shelter of the stone, and talk quietly until their voices faded into silence.

"Those two down there," I said softly once I was sure they were asleep. "They're important."

"Yes, Stephses," Elvis agreed. He was curling into a ball, his usual pose for sleeping. I yawned.

"I don't even know why. Just that they're out here in the middle of nowhere, and we're here following them..." Elvis nodded sleepily. I streched, then fluffed up my backpack a little. "What's amazing is how this thing is still in one piece. I swear..." Elvis nodded again, though his head barely moved in his rest. My vision began to blur, and I closed my eyes, succuming at last to sleep.

I dreamed that night. I saw a spider creeping down a web, toward two insects. I didn't recognize them, though they reminded me of ladybugs. I heard a voice call through the spider's web.

'Thief,' it said. 'Thief...'

'Are you there?' I asked the voice.

'Where?' the voice lamented. 'Stole...Precious...'

'I'm sorry,' I said. 'I hope you can get it back.'

'Curse! Hate! Want!'

I was woken by a sudden shout. It took me a moment to realize that the cry had come from Elvis, and I looked around, trying to find out why he was making the noise.

But he was gone. The sounds continued at the base of the rock, and were quickly joined by sounds of shuffling and scraping. I heard Sam cry out suddenly in pain. I rushed to the edge of the rock.

The sight below me shocked me beyond reason.

Elvis was sprawled across the ground, though he had Sam in a healock, and the hobbit seemed to be bleeding lightly from his shoulder. Sam was struggling against the attack, though his movements were getting steadily slower. Frodo was pushing Elvis's head painfully againt a stone, and had pulled out his sword, which was now pressed against Elvis's throat. I gasped and grabbed my spear, ready to come to my friend's defense. But Elvis saw me, and slowly shook his head, his eyes locked on mine. I tried to gesture that I was coming down to help, but he shook his head again, more rapidly this time. I backed up a step, trying to understand what he was doing. Now he nodded slightly.

"This is Sting," Frodo hissed while we maintained our little exchange. "You've seen it before...Haven't you? Gollum?" I was once again struck by the sound of the word. Judging by the way Frodo said it, I decided that it must be some kind of Middle Earth swear word. "Release him! Or I'll cut your throat." Elvis nodded weakly, this time at Frodo.

"Yesss..." he moaned pitifully. I fought the urge to run to his side, but remembered his order, and reluctantly stayed put. Elvis released his hold on Sam, who gratefully gasped at the air that had previously been denied him and rolled away from my friend.

"Are you all right, Mr. Frodo?" he asked. "Thanks for the rescue, if you don't mind me saying."

"I'm fine, Sam," Frodo confirmed. "I suspected that this wretched creature would be here."

Sam agreed wholeheartedly. Which, in itself is saying very little, since Sam almost never disagreed with Frodo at that point.

"What do we do now, Mr. Frodo?" Sam asked. Frodo still had Elvis pinned to the ground, a sword at his neck. Frodo looked suprised at the question.

"Do you still have that rope, Sam? Bring it, if you will." Sam eagerly obeyed. I tried to ignore the spectacle of his opening his backpack and rummaging through it, even though I could have sworn I saw a walkman amidst the debris. Finally he retrieved the 'real Elvish rope' and brought it to his friend. "Now, tie it around his neck." I started, my eyes wide. I had seen the Phantom of the Opera enough times to know where this was going. "Don't make it too tight, Sam!" I suddenly heard Frodo say. My absolute confusion was all that kept me from diving off the cliff to rescue Elvis.

"Mr. Frodo?" Sam wondered out loud.

"Don't kill him," his companion said softly.

"But why? This stinker is going to kill us!"

"That's why he's tied up, Sam. Gandalf said...he told me that Gollum is important. Or at least, he will be, before the end." He hesitated. "He said that there was a reason why Bilbo didn't kill him, all those years ago. And I think there's a reason why he shouldn't die here." I nodded silently, but my eyes returned to Elvis. His eyes were wide with pain. He was staring at the rope around his neck with horror, and he was shaking like a leaf. I leaned forward, and realized that the rope had been tied in a loose loop around his neck. It didn't look extremely dangerous, and not overly lethal. Yet he was breathing heavily, his teeth clenched as though he was in agony.

"What's wrong with him?" Sam asked, noticing the state of his prisoner. Elvis put a hand to the rope, hoping to untie it, but drew it back suddenly, as though he had been burned. He crawled backward, putting as much distance between him and the hobbits as possible. Sam noticed this, though, and gave the rope a sharp jerk. Elvis tumbled forward with a sharp cry.

"What?" I muttered, rising to my feet. Something was very wrong.

"Stay here, you!" Sam barked.

"Stop that," I growled, too low to hear. With my spear in hand, I slid quietly down the rock face. Sam jerked the rope again, making Elvis whimper. This made me mad.

"Enough!" I shouted, hitting the ground heavily. Both of the hobbits turned to see me running at them, my spear leveled toward them. The suprise was obvious in their faces, but I was beyond reason now. I dove forward, slamming the shaft of my spear into Sam's stomach. He landed on the ground with a satisfied 'oof!', but not before Frodo pounced on me himself, crumpling my legs beneath me. I tried hitting him several times with my weapon, before I realized that I was hitting myself more than my adversary. Frustrated, I threw the spear aside and tried to pry the hobbit off my leg. I managed at last to free one of my legs, and used it to kick him in the stomach, effectively sending him tumbling away. At this point, I would have probably jumped to my feet and untied Elvis.

Again, I _would have._ Because just as I was rising to my knees, I felt a sharp pain at the back of my head, and everything went black.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Disclaimer: If only, if only, the fic writer sighs,

I owned the LotR legal rights,

And the orcs sit below, hungry and lonely,

And tear out each other's throats- if only.

AN: I really like that song. Or the origional version of it. From Holes. And sincerest apologies and thanks to Prophet-Song, who informed me that I had messed up submitting this chapter. To explain: I write the entire story in one document, not chapter by chapter, so I can keep track of everything without repeating myself too much. I accidentally submitted the entire document, including a lot of my notes for future chapters, in the previous version of this chapter. I'm very sorry for the confusion, Prophet-Song. Thank you for reviewing and telling me about that.

* * *

"What is this? What in Middle Earth is this...Big Folk _girl_ doing here?"

"I think she may be one of _His_. _He _does have armies of the Big Folk. Southrons, I think they're called."

"But does _He _keep armies of women?"

"I don't know...I don't know. But what other explanation is there?" My head was throbbing. I tried opening my eyes, but the images before them were starkly bright and too blurry to make any sense of. I tried to pull myself up, but I found that my arms had been tied together at the wrists.

"Leave Stephses alone..." I heard Elvis hiss angrily. The outburst was followed by a sharp cry, and several pathetic sounding coughs.

"Be quiet, you villian!" I now recognized the voice as belonging to Sam. I tried to open my eyes again, but groaned as the first onslaught of a ferocious headache washed over me. I decided that the bright light meant that it was no longer the middle of the night.

"Shh, Sam. She's waking." This voice belonged to Frodo. I blinked until the world returned to focus, careful not to move my aching head.

"Not yet, I'm not," I moaned.

"Get up," Sam commanded gruffly.

"Not yet," I whined again.

"I think she can have a few more moments to rest," Frodo chuckled uneasily. "You hit her pretty hard with that pan." My eyes opened in annoyance.

"Pan?" I asked, pulling myself up with a deranged sit-up. "You hit me with a pan? Is that why I've got this migrane?" My vision was still swimming, but I caught a glimpse of a frying pan, lying guiltily by one of the backpacks. The large, overstuffed backpack, to be specific.

"Of course I hit you!" Sam cried. I cringed as my head resumed its throbbing. "You were attacking Mr. Frodo!"

"Not so loud," I whined. "And I wasn't attacking him, you deranged leprechuan. I was aiming at _you_. I was _defending myself _against him. There's a difference."

"Why would you attack Sam?" Frodo asked.

"Is Stephses hurt, Precious?" Elvis cut in, finally recovered from his coughing fit. He had finally entered my field of vision, and he looked worse for the ware. His neck was bruised and raw, and he was still twitching slightly. His voice was more hoarse than usual, which was not only seemingly impossible, but a definite bad sign. Compared to him, I was as healthy as a horse.

"Nothing worse than a headache," I assured him. He smiled weakly, but shook his head.

"Silly Stephses," he rasped. "We tries to tell Stephses, but Stephses didn't see. Hobbits are dangerous-" he was interrupted by another coughing fit.

"I saw, Elvis," I said meekly. "I messed up, though."

"So the two of you are conspirators?" Sam accused. I knew the word, but at the time, my headache prevented any logical thought.

"Sure, sure. Not so loud, okay, midget? We're conspiracies..."

"You're both working for...the Dark Lord, then?" Frodo asked steadily, though he hesitated slightly before mentioning the 'Dark Lord'.

"Who, Voldemort? Not that I know of. I loved the books, though. Hey, Elvis. Are we working for Voldemort?" Elvis looked confused.

"What are Voldemort, precious?" he asked.

"I would take that as a 'no,'" I suggested. The hobbits exchanged glances.

"On your feet," Sam said at last. I stared at him blankly. "Get up," he reiterated.

"You hit me with a frying pan," I said stupidly.

"I'll hit you again if you don't," Sam warned. I scowled, but obeyed, generally immitating a worm as I rolled to my side and tried to rise to my feet while my hands were tied behind my back.

"What were your orders?" Frodo asked when I finally finished the task. Again I stared blankly.

"I have orders? Wow. That's new. Elvis, do we have orders?" He shook his head, and I turned to the hobbit. "Orders from who?"

"The Dark Lord!" Frodo said.

"I told you we're not working for Voldemort!" I said, frustrated.

"Who in the world is this Volti-more?" Sam demanded. I shook my head sadly.

"Poor, deprived little leprechuan. He's Harry Potter's rival. You know, with the scar? And the wand? Voldemort's the evil wizard."

"Sauraman, you mean?" Frodo asked.

"Who?"

"Who is 'Harry Potter?'" Sam asked. This was getting us nowhere, so I decided to give a classic book report.

Did I mention that my social/political skills are enough to put any country down the toilet?

"Harry Potter," I began. "Is more commonly known as 'the Boy Who Lived.' He defeated and almost killed Lord Voldemort, an evil and really powerful tyrant wizard, when he was just an infant, because he's some kind of Chosen One, or something like that. He also happens to be the star of a fantastic book series, 'Harry Potter,' written by J.K. Rowling-"

"A book was written about him?" Frodo asked slowly.

"No! He's a character _in_ the book. He's a made up character. Completely fictional. Kind of like Vageeta and Erik and Barney. Even though Vageeta has died a few billion times (he keeps getting revived! Why can't he just stay dead?) and Erik died at the end of the book (even though he's so cool!) and practically every living creature under Heaven and most of them in the other place would pay a king's randsome to skewer Barney on a dozen blunt pitchforks and soak him in lemon juice. But Harry isn't dead yet, even though the rumor going around says that he will die in the seventh book. Voldemort died once already, but, of course, in the world of fiction, dead people can get up and go back to terrorizing the innocent community with only the slightest difficulty." I had effectively lost both of them.

"So...are you working for..." his voice went softer than a whisper. "...Sauron...?"

"Never heard of him," I said honestly. I glanced at Elvis to ask if he had, but my question was already answered. My friend had gone rigid, his eyes wide. His hands were opening and closing on nothing, as though he was trying to claw at something that was no longer there.

"Are you okay, Elvis?" I asked. He looked helplessly up at me. His eyes were haunted. I turned to the hobbits. "No," I said firmly. "We're not." Frodo caught the sincerity in my words.

"We can't let you go free," he said quietly. "You'll have to come with us." Without another word, he began walking away. Sam tugged at the rope, and I realized that it pulled at the bonds on my wrists, as well as the loop around Elvis's neck. My friend winced and began walking. Not wanting to disturb his bonds any more than necessary, I did the same. Sam made sure to shake me up once in a while, just to keep me off my feet. He realized that I was bigger than him, but my headache and bound hands provided him with an advantage, and he had confiscated my spear, and on the few occasions when I did try to fight him, he would smack me over the side of the head with my own weapon.

We walked for some time in silence. But as we went on, it became harder and harder for me to ignore the raw skin around Elvis's neck, and the painful way he jerked every time the rope moved against it. One particularly violent tug from Sam summoned a piercing cry.

"What's going on?" I cried out suddenly. "What's in that rope, anyway? What's wrong, Elvis?" Both of the hobbits turned around to check on the disturbance. Elvis was now writhing on the ground, howling.

"It burns!" Elvis shrieked at last. "It burns us! It freezes! Nasty Elves twisted it!" he shuddered and grabbed at the rope, only to throw it ruthlessly away. "Take it off us!" I stepped toward my friend, but another jerk of a rope sent both of us to the ground.

"Quiet, you!" Sam barked. I realized that I really really disliked this hobbit. "It's hopeless! Every Orc in Mordor's going to hear this racket!" he turned to Frodo. "Let's just tie them up and leave them."

"Hey!" I cried indignantly. "Don't we get any say in this?"

"No!" Elvis joined in my plea. "That would kill us! Kill us!" he was almost sobbing.

"It's no more than you deserve!" Sam argued. Frodo looked pensively at the three of us. Elvis was howling in despair, clawing at his neck and drawing blood, but unable to remove his bonds. All of his twisting and contortion, so effective in avoiding Orcs and disappearing into shadows, was useless against his adversaries: two hobbits and thier rope.

"Maybe he does deserve to die..." evidently, I was not even a part of this conversation. I silently cursed sexism in all its forms. "But now that I see him, I do pity him..." I looked up suddenly, seeing a way out. Frodo might be suffering from whatever schitzo disease had gotten Elvis, but it had revealed a chance for both of us. Elvis had caught the clue as well, and he timidly grabbed the rope and crawled toward Frodo. He offered the painful bond to the hobbit.

"We be nice to them, if they be nice to us...Take it off us!" Frodo was gazing cautiously at Elvis. "We swears to do what you wants...We swears..."

"There's no promise you can make that I can trust!" Frodo accused.

"Yeah. That's why they call it 'trust,'" I said simply. I could see Elvis search his mind for a way to prove his honesty. Frodo was almost convinced to let us go. All we needed now was some kind of proof...

"We swears..." he began, and then his eyes lit up. He had found it. "To serve the Master...of the Precious. We will swear on..." were there any Bibles nearby? Neither of us saw any. I realized that the hobbits probably weren't religious. "On the Precious!" he managed to choke out the word before succumbing again to a coughing fit.

"The Ring is treacherous," Frodo said gravely. "It will hold you to your word." He was now standing less than a yard away from Elvis.

"Yes..." Elvis pleaded. "On the Precious..."He went very still, and captured Frodo's eyes. There was no doubt of his honesty. "On the Precious."

"I DON'T BELIEVE YOU!" Sam shouted, running forward. Elvis turned and fled up the side of a rock. I followed, though careful to put myself between him and the hobbit. If it came to blows, I wanted a chance to slug Sam.

What I didn't take into account was the rope.

Sam gave it a sharp tug, especially on Elvis's end. My friend was sent tumbling down the side of the rock, gasping pitifully.

"Get down! I said, down!" Another yank on the 'leash' overbalanced me.

"Sam!" Frodo cried suddenly. Sam paused, turning to his companion.

"He's trying to trick us!" he explained angrily. "If we let him go, he'll throttle us in our sleep! They both will!" I fought the urge to point out that if Sam pulled on that rope one more time, I wouldn't wait until he was sleeping to throttle him. Instead I kept my face impassive as I pulled myself to my feet, once more carefully placing myself between Sam and Elvis. Frodo walked forward. He paused and looked at me, but said nothing and continued until he was standing just over Elvis, who was still trying to pull air into his heaving chest.

"You know the way to Mordor?" he asked stonily. Terror once again came over Elvis as he regained his breath.

"Yes," he whispered, his voice higher than normal.

"You've been there before?"

"Yes..." Elvis repeated. The word had been reduced to little more than a squeak. He was trembling now. Frodo took a deep breath and stooped over his prisoner. He loosened he loop and slipped it over his head, freeing him.

"You will take us to the Black Gate." There was a certain amount of authority in his voice. Elvis was also impressed by the command, and didn't move when Frodo walked away, except to turn his head and continue to watch the hobbit as he returned to me. I was absolutely still as he untied the ropes that fastened my wrists. He glanced quickly at the place where the bonds had been, and I followed his gaze: the skin there was chaffed and bleeding a little. Large bruises wound their way down my arms, ending in ugly welts where the ropes had dug into my skin. "You are free to go," he said to me. "I'm sorry about the bruises." He returned to Sam and gathered my spear and my pack, putting them on the ground for me. I stared silently at my belongings as he began to walk away. Sam gave me an untrusting look and followed. Elvis stared sadly at me, but said nothing.

"Show us to the Gate, Gollum," Frodo called. Elvis hung his head and slunk to his new master, bound by his promise.

_Is this the end? _I wondered. _Do I just go now?_

_Where to? _a voice in the back of my mind asked. I bent down and collected my things, then turned to face the departing hobbits and their guide.

"Hey!" I shouted after them. "Where do you think you're going?" All three of them froze. I took advantage of the situation to dash up to them.

"What are you doing?" Sam asked.

"Good question," I snapped. "What did you think I would do, just let you get away?" Sam's eyes flew to my spear. Evidently he remembered my first attack on him. "Elvis is my friend, you maniac leprechuan! Do you honestly think I'd just leave him alone with an abusive psycho like you? What kind of a person do you think I am?" Frodo studied me carefully, grasping the meaning of my words.

"What do you intend to do then?" he asked carefully.

"I'm coming with you," I said.

"What?" Sam asked.

"It's a package deal. If he's got to come with you, then I'm coming too. There's no escaping it."

"I see," Frodo said, nodding thoughtfully. "Why did you attack us?" My eyes widened.

"You just _now _decide to ask that?" I laughed. "Why wouldn't I? You guys were throttling Elvis! Did you expect me to go and watch TV? Of course I attacked you!" Frodo studied me pensively.

"So you mean us no harm?"

"That depends, Frodo," I said. "For example, if Sam here keeps abusing Elvis like he has been, I'm going to kick him so hard-"

"But you have no intention of harming us otherwise?"

"Not really."

"What is your name, then?"

"Gaia. Stephanie Gaia. But call me Steph."


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer:

Masako: Do I own LotR?

Smeagol: No, Precious.

Gollum: But we wills, won't we, Precious?

Smeagol: No, we wont's!

Gollum: Yes! We wants it...

Smeagol: Belongs to Tolkienses, Precious!

Gollum: It's mine! My Precious!

Steph: Hey! Elvis! We need to get back in the story!

Gollum/Smeagol/Elvis: Yes, Stephses.

Masako: Okay...I don't own anything. Sorry for the delay.

AN: I am SOOOOOOOOOO sorry I haven't updated in so long. My teachers are all conspiring to kill me or something, and they're putting me through all heck at school. But I've finally conquered the worst of it (see? archery DOES come in handy!) and now I can update again. Sorry about keeping you guys waiting, though!

* * *

**Chapter 10**

I strictly forbade Frodo and Sam from going another step until I took care of Elvis. I was never exactly the matron saint of care giving and compassion, but Elvis was my friend, and I couldn't stand looking at the shredded skin around his neck.

I'd also like to add that I had almost failed the first aid portion of health class. So instead of doing whatever a respectable doctor would have done, I took the easy way out and applied some of Galadriel's salve.

Hey. It worked for Boromir, didn't it?

Elvis flinched when I touched it to his skin, no doubt recognizing its origins. But, despite the pain it caused him, he simply clenched his teeth and sat rigid as I applied the treatment. Once it was administered, Frodo stepped up to us.

"Are you finished?" he asked.

"Yup. It'll take a few hours to work all the way. Elvis, don't do anything overly stressful with your neck for a while." I turned to Frodo. "Frodo, don't make him do anything stressful for a while. Preferably never. All right?" The hobbit nodded.

"But the promise remains," he reminded me. "Gollum, take us to the Gate."

"To the Gate, the nice hobbit says, Stephses. To the Gate!" Elvis chirped, darting off between the rocks in his preferred way: on all fours. No longer restrained by Sam's rope, he was eager to run and stretch his legs, and he took full advantage of his new freedom. I didn't withold a chuckle.

"Wait up!" I called, racing after him. I heard his voice filtering through the rocks.

"To the Gate, to the Gate! To the Gate, the master says. Yes!" But then I heard another voice. At first I thought it was him, but it was strangely rough and cold.

"No!" it protested. "We won't go back. Not there. Not to _Him_! They can't make us!" It coughed hoarsely.

"But we swore to serve the master of the Precious," Elvis argued.

"No. Ashes and dust and thirst there is, and pits, pits, pits! And orcses, thousands of orcses. And always the Great Eye watching. Watching..." I finally managed to catch sight of him, and Frodo and Sam weren't far behind. I could see Elvis crouched against a rock, but the other speaker was out of sight. Elvis looked back at me, then saw the hobbits. He let out a tearing shriek and galloped away. I paused for a moment, puzzled. In that time, Frodo and Sam had caught up with me, and the latter hobbit was now breathing hard and clutching his side.

"Hey!" Sam shouted. "Come back now! Come back! There!" he turned to Frodo, completely ignoring me. "He's run off, the old villain. So much for his promises." I cuffed him on the back of the head, resulting in a satisfying 'Ow!'. "What was that for?"

"Just because somebody is faster than you doesn't make them a liar. Now stop whining and let's go." Needless to say, I had not yet forgiven Sam for the bruises on my arms or the swiftly healing skin around Elvis's neck.

Just at that moment, Elvis arrived on the scene, though from almost the opposite direction. I guess he really needed to get rid of that extra energy.

"This way, Stephses. This way, hobbits. Follow me!" he crowed, an started off again, though this time, it didn't seem that he was high on rocket fuel.

It honestly didn't take us long to get out of Emyn Muil. Only a few hours, which is more than decent, considering the three days the two hobbits had spent crawling through the rocks. Elvis knew the area well, and soon he was gliding across the rocks, followed by me, and eventually our two new companions, until he showed us an outcropping of stone that overlooked a nasty greenish yellowish brownish smelly mass, which looked suspiciously like three day old meatloaf surprise. I shuddered and focused my eyes on the horizon. A large mountain loomed in the distance, evidently a volcano, judging by the fire and dark smoke that had gathered along its peak.

"This place has its own personal Vesuvius. Nifty," I mused. Elvis shrugged, long past trying to figure out what I was talking about. Frodo, however, was not so wise.

"Vesuvius-Nifty? What is that?" he asked. Elvis and I both snickered a little at this.

"Nifty is just a word," I explained, after a threatening look from Sam. "It doesn't mean anything, except maybe 'wow' or something like that. It's an interjection. However," I felt that I had to seperate the words, to ward off too much more confusion. "Vesuvius was a volcano, a firey mountain, I've heard them called. There's a lot of them where I come from, so everyone's used to them. But Vesuvius was a famous volcano, which blew up and swalllowed an entire island in molten stone. And judging by the looks of that little ant hill over there, Mordor's in store for an eruption pretty soon. Don't you think so?" Frodo grimaced.

"The name of the mountain there," he said quietly, "is Mount Doom. And that is where we are heading." This resulted in a perfect _I Love Lucy _Eeeiiiwww face.

"I see," I said at last, recovering from my surprise. "Well, I hope we miss any major eruptions."

We made our way down the ledge and following slope with some caution. Elvis stopped suddenly when we reached the giant mass of old meatloaf. Not surprisingly, it smelled like old meatloaf, and more than a little raw egg.

_Sulfer_, I decided, not abandoning my old rock loving ways.

"See?" Elvis interrupted my analysis of the source of the sulfer and the components of the moldy looking mass before us. "See? We've led you out. Hurry, hobitses. Hurry! Very lucky we find you," he turned to Sam and grinned. "Nice hobbit," he said, evidently trying to make peace with his new companion. It was a noble undertaking, but not a very successful one. Sam said nothing at first, and walked in the direction that Elvis had gestured to. For a moment, his foot was suspended on the squishy looking moldy stuff, but then it sank out of sight, covered by foul looking water, that accompanied a positively evil stench.

"It's a bog," Sam narrated in disgust. "He's led us into a swamp."

"I don't think so," I commented. "I think this is the legendary place where lunchladies get the filling for the burritos. I knew it was contaminated."

"A swamp, yes, yes," Elvis corrected. "Come, master, come, Stephses. We will take you on safe paths through the mist. Come, hobbits!" He called again. I was already beside him, fighting an urge to vomit all over Sam. It was tempting, though. "Come! We go quickly. I found it. I did. The way through the marshes."

"Marsh? That's great. You know, we could really use some fish and cheese, and a couple boxes of cookies wouldn't be a bad thing either...But you never know what kind of crazed orcs you might run into at your local grocery store, do you?" Evidently, everybody missed my joke.

"Orcs don't use it," Elvis continued. "Orcs don't know it. They go around for miles and miles. Come quickly. Soft and quick as shadows we must be..."

"Are shadows really quick, though?" I asked. "I mean, they only move as fast as the person in front of them, right? Or do shadows not need those here? I don't know about here, but where I come from, it's usually a bad sign if shadows start moving around on thier own." Sam was giving me a weird look, like I had just swallowed a watermelon whole. "What?"

"Where are you from, Steph?" Frodo asked suddenly.

"Boy, your timing is off," I chuckled carefully following Elvis onto the swampland. "Never become an international diplomat. But I'm from Illinois."

"Ill-Annoy? That explains a lot," Sam muttered.

"Yup," I said with an evil grin, stopping suddenly in my tracks. Sam, who was walking behing me, walked headfirst into me, his head suddenly embedded in my waist. "Pervert," I hissed, thwaking him over the side of the head.

"Ow! What was that all about?" the hobbit demanded. "I didn't do anything!"

"Sure you didn't," I said, making sure to drip an unhealthy dose of sarcasm from my voice.

"Are you all right, Sam?" Frodo asked. Immediately Sam straightened, the glare wiped from his face.

"I'm fine, Mr. Frodo," he piped. I watched him in amazement.

"Where on Earth do you get all your energy?" I asked. "Do you eat chocolate for breakfast or something? Or just a lot of carbs?" Frodo tried to ease the confused look from his face as he continued to walk.

"Cha-Ka-Laht? Carhbs? What are they?" he asked. I pondered this question for a few moments.

"Either one could arguably be considered the root of all evil," I said finally. "But everybody loves them anyway."

"Everybody in Il-y-noi, right?" he inquired.

"Illinois. And yes, that's right." Frodo glanced suspiciously at his shirt.

"Is it safe to speak of them?" he asked tentatively.

"Sure," I said.

"Why do your people love what you call the roots of all evil?" he asked. Elvis was humming to himself a few dozen feet away, testing the ground for stability.

"They aren't really," I explained, laughing. "Um...how do I put this? Both of them are kinds of foods. Chocolate is brown and sweet, and good, and it makes you feel good, and it makes people (especially little kids) more hyper than you can imagine, and it's great for PMS"

"Piyemmess?"

"Never mind. But anyway, it's great. Then there's carbs. They're really good too."

"And what are they?"

"Let's see. Carbs are bread, and pasta, and anything sweet, and rice, and..." I continued listing random carbohydrate infested items.

"Bread? Taters?" Sam asked. "You can't be serious. Bread and taters, evil? That's not possible!"

"To you and me, not at all. But I never said that we were the ones condemning them, did I?"

"Then who is?" Frodo asked. I laughed again, amused by his insistance.

"Cheerleaders, preps, et cetra. You know the type: all of those people that are so obsessed with being the center of attention that they'd decapitate themselves for a scrap of popularity."

"Yes. Like Lobelia," Frodo said with a sad smile. Now it was my turn to be confused.

"Who?" I asked.

"Lobelia Sackville-Baggins. A cousin of mine," Frodo explained. "I'm not sure what these 'cheerleaders-preps-etcetra' are, but I think I understand what you mean."

"If she means pompous, selfish, stubborn, mulish, lazy..." Sam chimed in.

"That's the one! Ha! And I thought I'd finally escaped thier evil clutches. Oh well. Your cousin isn't comming over here, if she's anything like the people I'm talking about."

Our soft laughter echoed through the air, and I was suddenly reminded of how vast the swamp was. I shuddered.

"Boy, this place is creepy," I said. "You know, you could shoot a great horror flic here. 'Return of the Mummy of the Bride of the Son of the Wife of the Swamp Beast,' or something like that. It would be great."

"What?" Frodo asked, looking at me like I was crazy. I didn't argue. I probably was.

"Never mind."


End file.
